


We're Not Really Falling Apart, We're Just Incomplete

by Harleydoll



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Boys Kissing, Charles Has Issues, Consensual Underage Sex, Developing Friendships, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Consent, Fluff and Angst, Holding Hands, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internal Conflict, Kidnapping, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Medical Procedures, Mutant Pride, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Poor Charles, Possessive Erik, Prompt Fic, Protective Erik, Sassy Charles Xavier, Smitten Erik, Stockholm Syndrome, Supervillains, Underage Sex, X-Men: First Class (2011)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-06-27 04:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 57,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harleydoll/pseuds/Harleydoll
Summary: “To my knowledge,” Erik said softly, as he examined his hostage, “The only time people aren't scared of me is if they've come across worse. “And honestly, I didn't think there was much worse than me in this city. Curious, don't you think?”Xavier's eyes flickered, jaw clenched. “Are you going to kill me?”“The look on your face suggests you're asking me to.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [我们并未崩塌，只是缺失彼此/We're Not Really Falling Apart, We're Just Incomplete](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18311972) by [darknightwindsor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darknightwindsor/pseuds/darknightwindsor)



> Based on a prompt off Pinterest by the-modern-typewriter (https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/409405422368664560/) that was originally about a hero/villain relationship and became slightly Beauty and the Beast inspired, and slightly just me procrastinating finishing Crossroads xD

“To my knowledge,” Erik said softly, as he examined his hostage, “The only time people aren't scared of me is if they've come across worse. “And honestly, I didn't think there was much worse than me in this city. Curious, don't you think?” 

Xavier's eyes flickered, jaw clenched. “Are you going to kill me?” 

“The look on your face suggests you're asking me to.” He was missing something here—it was maddening. Ignorance tended to lead to losing. Then he saw the way the boy flinched every time it seemed someone else was approaching the room and it clicked. For a second, Erik could barely think through the sudden chill. 

“What do you think your parents will say when they find out you've been kidnapped by the enemy?” He kept his voice light. “I'd be pretty irritated to have to haul some liability of a brat out of trouble.” 

The boy flinched. _Bingo_. It didn't feel like a victory, though. More like an oh, shit. 

“They'll find a way to blame you for this, I suppose,” Erik continued casually, making note of the way Xavier shifted uncomfortably in the chair, its metal arms wrapped around his wrists to prevent a wider range of movement. “But I'm sure you're used to that.” 

He should have enjoyed watching the kid squirm, but instead he felt a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. Charles Xavier, Westchester's golden boy, more afraid of his parents than the mutant terrorist holding him hostage. If he let Xavier go, what exactly would he be going home to? 

“They don't want me.” 

Erik raised an eyebrow. Xavier's gaze was fixed on his own, firm and unwavering. “If you thought you could use me as leverage, you're wasting your time. My stepfather would much rather wait for you to kill me and claim my family's fortune for himself. Oh, they'll play their part,” Xavier added with a wry, bitter smile. “Pretend they've searched high and low, tried to negotiate, but they were just too late to save me. Such a terrible tragedy.” 

Slowly, deliberately, the metal arms of the chair unwound from around Charles' wrists and settled back into their natural position. He rubbed his wrists, pushing his sleeves up as he did, and flinched again as Erik took a step towards him. “What are you doing?” 

Honestly? Erik wasn't sure anymore. He wasn't even certain that the kid wasn't just playing him, giving him some sob story to make him drop his guard. But his body language didn't lie, and neither did the bruises circling Charles' exposed forearms. 

“If you're going to stay here, you may as well make yourself comfortable,” Erik told him. “There's an adjoining bathroom there--” he waved a gloved hand towards the door to his right-- “and I'll find you something to wear to bed.” 

Charles's brow furrowed, confusion clouding his ocean blue eyes. “Why are you doing this?” 

“You said yourself,” Erik shrugged. “There's no point in killing you. And there's no way I'm sending you back to the people who did that.” He gestured to the bruises on Charles' arm. 

“So I'm your prisoner now.” 

“For lack of a better word.” Erik turned, cape swirling around his ankles, and left the room before his expression could betray his emotions. A flick of the wrist locked the door behind him, leaving Charles confined to his room for the night. And when had he started referring to the kid by his first name? Erik shook his head. He should be more concerned with the fact that his plans were entirely shot to hell. He had a hostage that was worth nothing but an easy alibi for the parents he'd planned to blackmail, and worse, said hostage was a victim of abuse. He couldn't use him, couldn't let him go, not back to that, and he had no idea where to go from here. 

Erik sighed heavily and removed his helmet as he entered his own bedroom, just next door to Charles' own. He needed a hot shower and a stiff drink, and then he'd check on Charles and drop off some clean pyjamas. One night, he told himself. He just had to get through one night, and everything would be clearer tomorrow. 

~

It would have been easier if Magneto had just killed him. Charles had banked on his cruelty and lack of empathy to put them both out of their misery, but as it turned out, the man had a soft spot for victims of abuse. He'd managed to sleep through the night at least, oddly more at ease knowing there was a mutant terrorist down the hall that didn't want to kill him instead of a drunk, belligerent stepfather that could come bursting through his door at any moment. 

There was no clock in the room, but the sunlight filtering through a gap in the wine coloured curtains told him it had to be at least mid-morning. Realizing that this meant there was, in fact, a window, Charles slipped out of bed and padded across the room to open the curtains and check the locks. The window slid open easily enough, but the fine metallic mesh blocking his escape was considerably stronger than any ordinary insect screen. The street below was entirely empty of people or vehicles, and the line of nearly identical low rise apartment buildings across the street told Charles he was probably housed in one of the same. Pulling the curtains shut again, he turned back to the sparsely furnished room. 

There was the bed he'd spent the night in, sheets and duvet in charcoal and burgundy. Across from it, the door to the bathroom, and a compact, four-drawer dresser that currently contained yesterday's clothing and nothing else. Charles dressed slowly, studiously ignoring the chair that he'd been confined to for much of the previous night as he buttoned his shirt and shrugged on his favourite navy wool cardigan. This, at least, was a small comfort. 

Charles glanced around the little room, his gaze falling on the closet adjacent to the locked, and still undisturbed, door. Three steps took him to the closet doors, which he unceremoniously flung open before peering inside. It was, as with the dresser, completely empty. Charles turned away with a sigh, closing the doors behind him. Mutant terrorist or not, he could have at least left Charles something to read. Charles pushed a stray lock of chestnut hair from his eyes and stalked back over the bed to straighten the comforter and smooth the creases in the charcoal grey pillowcase. 

He was lying on his back on the bed, counting hairline cracks in the ceiling when the door unlocked with a sharp click, and his captor stepped into the room. 

“It's about time,” Charles said, not bothering to sit up as he spoke. “Have you come to kill me?” 

“I came to see if you wanted breakfast.” 

Charles pushed himself up to a sitting position and crossed one leg over the other. “A last meal, then.” He willed his expression into a mask of indifference, despite the flicker of surprise at seeing Magneto in civilian clothing. Gone were the flowing cape and imposing helmet, and in their place he wore a simple black turtleneck and dark jeans. He was younger than Charles had originally assumed, and now, observing the angular, lightly stubbled line of his jaw and the unfurrowed youthfulness of his skin, Charles placed his age around nineteen or twenty. 

“Tell me, do you have a death wish, or just a very low sense of self-worth?” Magneto asked dryly. “If you must know, I have no intention of killing you. Before or after breakfast.” He gestured to the open door. “Will you join me?” 

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Seriously.” 

“I'm always serious.” 

Charles snorted. “That, I can believe. What I don't understand is why the great and powerful Magneto wants to dine with his lowly, useless prisoner.” 

“First of all, stop acting like you're irrelevant. It's annoying. Second,” his captor continued, “If you're going to be staying here, you can call me Erik. Magneto is for the public. And third, you need to eat. I need to eat. I was hoping to streamline this entire process, but you seem to have a knack for making things difficult.” 

Charles glared at him. Erik glared right back. After a long moment, Charles uncrossed his legs and stood up. “Fine,” he conceded. “But only because I'm bloody starving.” 

~

They ate in silence, and the only sound assaulting Charles' ears was his own chewing and swallowing as he devoured the waffles and fresh strawberries placed in front of him. He knew Magneto—no, Erik, Charles reminded himself, was watching him the entire time, a small, amused smile playing at his lips, but Charles was too hungry to care. He didn't need to impress his kidnapper with his impeccable upper class manners, for God's sake. It wasn't until Charles had set his fork down, sated and scratching absently at the nape of his neck, that Erik finally spoke. 

“I have to go out for a while.” 

Charles merely shrugged, making a point of looking anywhere but at Erik. When it was clear he wasn't going to respond, Erik added, “You have the run of the apartment while I'm gone.” 

“Such a gracious host.” 

Erik's fist clenched on top of the table, and Charles smirked inwardly at the the ease with which he'd provoked him. 

“Excuse me if these accommodations aren't up to your trust fund standards, kid.” He pushed his chair back and moved to collect the dishes. 

“I'm not a child,” Charles stood as well, snatching his own plate before Erik could take it. “So don't call me 'kid' when you've probably barely got three years on me.” 

Erik frowned. “How the hell old are you, fifteen?” 

“Seventeen.” Charles pushed past him and put his plate in the sink, fork and knife clattering noisily against the ceramic dishware. “You should have kept your helmet on. It made you look like you might actually be over twenty.” 

“I'll be twenty-one next month,” Erik muttered, and the look on his face told Charles that he knew exactly how juvenile that sounded. “Just...stay put. Don't do anything stupid. I'll be back in a few hours.” He dumped his own dishes into the sink and strode from the room, snatching a black overcoat from the coat rack in the hallway as he left the apartment. The door closed and locked with an audible click, and another slightly muted metallic sound that Charles assumed was the hinges and locking mechanism moulding into something completely inoperable. 

“I'll just wait here, then,” Charles told the empty apartment. 

~

It was late in the evening when Erik returned, pausing only for a moment in the doorway at the sight of Charles curled up on the couch under a purple throw blanket, a book in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. Charles barely spared Erik a glance as he leaned over to put the mug down on the coffee table and turned a page in his book. 

“I see you've made yourself at home.” 

Charles ignored him, his focus entirely on the book he was reading. Erik squinted at the cover, partially obscured by Charles' knees but easily recognizable as The Once and Future King. Recognizable, Erik realized, because he'd last seen it on the bookshelf in his bedroom. “Where did you get that?” 

“Your room,” Charles replied without looking up. 

Erik's hands balled into fists at his sides, but he resisted the desire to snarl at the boy. “You were in my bedroom.” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Fantastic. Communication had entirely devolved and his prisoner had ransacked his room. Why had he not thought to lock the door before he left? He forced himself to take a slow, steadying breath. He couldn't let Charles see that he was unsettled. “And did you find anything interesting when you invaded my personal space?” Erik gritted out, stalking over to where Charles sat. 

To his credit, Charles didn't flinch. He merely closed the book and glared up at Erik, eyes sparkling with defiance. “First off, you kidnapped me. So if you want to talk about personal space, let's start there. And if you mean did I find my school bag in your closet, the answer is yes. I did, but my phone's dead and you don't have a Blackberry charger. I checked.” 

Erik narrowed his eyes, but the kid didn't seem to be lying, and he was still here, drinking his tea and reading his book as if everything was completely fine. And, Erik supposed, it was. He started to turn away, but there was something else, something he hadn't noticed before that gave him pause. “You have something metallic on you. In you,” Erik corrected himself. “Tell me what it is.” 

Charles bit his lower lip and rubbed the back of his neck, a move that to anyone other than Erik would have looked like a simple nervous tick. “Must be my metal filling.” 

Erik reached down and took the book from him, tossing it onto the coffee table. “I won't ask again.” 

Charles seemed to shrink into himself, his confidence deflated. “It's...it's nothing.” 

“Then you won't mind if I remove it.” Erik raised a hand, fingers crooking as he felt the shape of the little metal chip in Charles' neck. 

Charles' palm locked over the nape of his neck. “Don't—-please!” 

Erik paused, but kept a tiny tendril of his power wrapped around the foreign object. Charles seemed to relax only slightly, as though he could feel Erik's grip loosen. When Charles remained silent, Erik gave the chip another tug, and Charles hissed through his teeth. “It's a neural inhibitor!” He blurted out, and Erik let go entirely this time. 

“A what?” 

Charles squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, pulling his knees to his chest. “A neural inhibitor. To stop me from using my powers.” At Erik's confused expression, he elaborated. “I'm a mutant. No one knows except my parents, and Trask Industries. They're the ones who created the implant.” 

“You're a mutant.” 

Charles nodded. This changed everything. Did it change everything? Erik wasn't certain of anything anymore. 

“How long have you had that...thing in you?” His mind was racing. A mutant, and a telepath, no less, in his possession. Not some meek human bargaining chip, but a full fledged mutant, who had been suppressed and abused for--

“Seven years.” 

That did it. He sidestepped between the couch and coffee table and sat down next to Charles, barely noticing when Charles pulled his feet in closer, and with them the blanket still covering his legs. 

They sat there in silence for several minutes, Charles resting his chin on his knees and watching Erik work through this new information. He had to remove the inhibitor, obviously. It went against everything he stood for to allow a mutant to be subjugated like that. Add that to the other forms of abuse Charles had suffered...and yet. He was a telepath. If Erik removed that chip, Charles could and would leave him, and Erik wasn't yet ready to let him go. 

Erik felt Charles shift beside him, but when he glanced over the kid froze and curled into himself again. “For fuck's sake, I'm not going to hurt you.” 

Charles averted his eyes and didn't reply. Erik sighed inwardly. “I can remove that chip for you, if you want.” 

“I'd rather you didn't,” Charles said quietly. 

“Why not?” 

“Because I'm a danger to myself and to others.” 

“Is that what they told you?” Erik shook his head with a grim smile. “People fear what they don't understand Charles. You are a god among insects. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

“Is that what you believe?” Charles uncurled ever so slightly, that familiar tone of defiance creeping into his voice. “You think you're some kind of god?” 

“I think,” Erik answered, choosing his words with care, “that mutants are the the next stage in human evolution. And it's time that the world knew who we are, and what we can do.” 

“Violence and bloodshed are not a solution, Erik,” Charles retorted. “I've seen how you present yourself to the world. You speak of mutant rights, when you really mean mutant superiority.” 

“And what humans do is so much better?” Erik argued. “Identification, that's where it starts. Next they're convincing you that you're dangerous, and need to be subdued.” He gestured towards Charles' neck, and Charles flinched. “And it ends with being rounded up, experimented on, and eliminated.” 

Charles' hand went to the back of his neck again, seemingly of its own accord. “That's not—I just wanted—” 

“Wanted what, Charles?' Erik leaned forward, bracing a hand on Charles' knee. “To be normal? To blend in? We weren't made to be ordinary. You are not ordinary.” 

Charles paled, his gaze dropping to Erik's grip on his knee. “Please,” he whispered. “Please just let me go.” 

Erik narrowed his eyes, not sure if he was referring to Erik's hand, or his current situation. “Alright,” he said, releasing Charles' knee. “I'll let you go. If,” he added, cutting Charles off as he tried to speak, “you do something for me.” 

Charles exhaled slowly. “What could you possibly want from me?” 

“Permission to remove the inhibitor.”

“No. No, I can't.” Charles shook his head. “You can't ask that of me.” 

“I can, and I have.” Erik stood and walked away towards his bedroom. “Let me know when you change your mind.” _And you will_ , Erik added silently. _You will understand what they've done to you._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guarantee you I will not be updating this quickly all the time xD Thank you so much for all of your positive feedback!

The days passed uneventfully for Charles, whose principal marker of time was the digital clock on the microwave and the daily habits of his captor. They had breakfast together each morning, during which Erik made his offer of freedom, Charles declined, and casual conversation became spirited debate concerning mutant rights and equality. Charles argued for peaceful coexistence and understanding, while Erik held fast to his own mentality of us or them, mutants will inherit the earth, and so on and so forth. Charles couldn't help himself, he enjoyed the way they played off of each other, neither yielding to the others' ideals, the friction between them like two stones striking together to spark a flame. 

At some point, they would reach an impasse, and Erik would rise from his seat, clearing the table before he grabbed his black overcoat and bid Charles a quick, impersonal goodbye. At first, Charles had preferred his time alone to read, drink tea, and watch Erik's latest exploits on the news, but lately the solitude had become more tangible, the weight of it almost stifling as he filled the kettle from the kitchen sink and plugged it into its electric base. Erik didn't often drink tea himself, but on learning that Charles favoured Earl Grey over instant coffee, he had made sure that the cupboard over the stove was fully stocked. 

Erik had also provided him with clean clothes (stolen from Charles' own closet, and he still didn't know how Erik had managed it), and a charger for his bulky, outdated Ipod, which he was currently tethered to via black nondescript earbuds. Charles hummed along to an old Take That song as he wandered from the kitchen, waiting for the water to boil. Truth be told, he was getting a little stir crazy. The apartment didn't even have a balcony to wander onto, just a corner window overlooking the fire exit and the alley below. The window was, of course, blocked by the same metal sheeting as the one in his bedroom, not that Charles had bothered to check. He didn't have anywhere else to be, and Erik took far better care of him than his mother and stepfather ever did. It was actually a relief not to be looking over his shoulder all the time in anticipation of one of Kurt's drunken rampages, or his son's proclivities for violence. 

Charles smirked to himself as he picked up his backpack from the floor by his bed, rummaging through its contents. He had to admit how ridiculous the situation was, that he felt safer sharing an apartment with his supervillain kidnapper than in his own home. He might have even considered Erik a friend, if they'd met under different circumstances. 

Charles shook his head, banishing that thought from his mind and slung the backpack over his shoulder before returning to the living room and dropping the bag off next to the couch. If he had nothing better to do with his time, he might was well catch up on some homework. 

~

Erik returned later than usual that night, but when Charles turned on the television, absently flicking through various news channels, there was no evidence of any of Erik's usual pro-mutant activities. He sighed and turned off the television, returning his attention the laptop balanced on his outstretched legs. He was saving the final draft of his history paper to a desktop folder he'd created that day when the familiar click of a lock sounded and Erik strode through the front door, slipping out of his overcoat and hanging it on the coat rack in one fluid motion. He barely spared Charles a glance as he walked past him and into the kitchen, his mouth fixed into a hard, thin line. Charles listened to him rummage around for about half a minute, and then Erik's head poked back through the doorway. 

“Is that my laptop?” 

“Yes.” Watching Erik bristle at his one word replies was one of Charles' favourite forms of entertainment. 

“And what, exactly, are you doing with it?” Erik demanded, leering at him over the back of the couch. 

“Homework,” Charles answered, fighting to keep the grin from spreading across his face at Erik's bemused reaction. “By the way, what's your wi-fi password? I need to send my paper in, it's due tomorrow.” 

Erik stared at him. “You think I'm going to fall for that?” 

Charles snorted. “You honestly believe I'd spend five hours slaving away on an essay about the Vietnam War just to send a message to the outside world? It would have been less torturous to have you remove the inhibitor this morning.” When Erik didn't answer, Charles sighed. “Look, I just want to email my midterm assignments. Here,” he said, turning the laptop to face Erik. “If you're so paranoid, enter the password yourself, make a new email account, and send the assignments for me. I'd really rather not fail senior year.” 

Erik rubbed at his eyes, massaging his temples as though trying to dispel a headache. “Fine. Whatever. But I need to eat something first.” 

“There's leftover pasta in the fridge,” Charles offered helpfully. Erik shot him another look, and this time Charles didn't suppress his smile. “What? You weren't here. And everyone knows it's impossible to actually make the right amount of pasta.” 

Erik just grumbled something unintelligible and trudged back into the kitchen. 

“You're welcome,” Charles called after him. 

~

Erik couldn't sleep. A glance at the stoic, red numbers on his alarm clock told him it was nearly 3 am, and he was still lying on his back, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Charles. He'd been so angry with Emma and her condescending opinions about the ethics of kidnapping that he'd actually agreed to help Charles send in his school work. And who the hell was Emma Frost to be preaching about ethics when she paraded about in other people's minds like they were her personal property? 

God, he must be going mad, Erik thought to himself, draping his forearm over his eyes, because he was beginning to like having the kid around. He looked forward to their arguments over breakfast, their chess games after dinner, and he took small comfort in having another warm body in an otherwise empty apartment. If it wasn't for the fact that Charles was here under duress, he'd be the perfect roommate. 

Erik sighed heavily and was about to roll over onto his side when he heard a muffled cry through the wall. He froze mid-turn, and a moment later, he heard another, this one louder than the first. Erik slid out from beneath the duvet and padded towards his bedroom door, which opened at his silent command, and moved silently to Charles' room. He stood outside for a moment, listening to Charles' muted cries, uncertain what to do. He had gotten used to the occasional nightmare; the walls were thin and Erik could hear the kid tossing and turning most nights, but this was different. It felt different. 

A bloodcurdling scream sounded from within, and Erik stopped thinking. He burst through the door to find Charles sitting bolt upright in bed, hands braced against the mattress as he tried to catch his breath. His head whipped around as Erik approached, and he immediately scrambled back against the headboard, tucking his knees against him. 

“No, I didn't mean it!” Charles' gaze was bleary and unfocused, and Erik realized that it wasn't him that Charles was seeing. “I'll behave I promise just—please--” 

“Hey, hey it's me,” Erik's voice was hoarse to his ears, and he tried to soothe his own nerves along with Charles' as he spoke. “Charles, it's me. I'm not going to hurt you.” He perched on the edge of the bed and Charles turned away from him, gripping the edge of the pillow like a lifeline. 

“Please, I didn't—I didn't--” he choked on the words and Erik reached out a tentative hand in offering. 

“It's okay, you're okay, Charles. It was just a dream. No one can hurt you here.” He continued to murmur variations of his words as Charles slowly released the pillow and turned his head to look at Erik, recognition flickering in reddened, watery eyes. Erik didn't dare move for fear of scaring him away. “That's it, you see now? It was just a bad dream. You're safe.” 

Slowly, so slowly, Charles' shoulders relaxed, his fingers unclenching from the pillow. “I'm sorry,” he whispered. His legs uncurled next, dropping to the mattress with a barely audible thump. “I'm so tired, Erik.” 

“I know,” Erik said quietly. “I know.” He reached over and pulled the duvet up over Charles' chest as he laid back in bed, allowing Erik to tuck him in. When he stood to leave, Charles spoke up again. 

“Would you stay? Just until I fall asleep.” 

Erik hesitated only a fraction of a second before sitting back down on the bed. “Sure.” 

~

As per usual, Erik was already dressed when Charles emerged from his room, yawning and shrugging into his favourite blue cardigan. What was unusual was that Erik, on spotting Charles trudging down the hall, closed the distance between them and thrust a steaming travel mug into Charles' hands. 

“Here,” Erik said, brushing past him to reach the hall closet. “You're taking your tea to go.” 

“Um...go where?” he asked, brows knitting together in confusion. 

“Out.” Charles watched him rummage through the closet and emerge with a navy blue peacoat. “This should fit you.” He handed Charles the coat and then grabbed his own black one. 

Charles opened his mouth to respond, but Erik held up a hand to cut him off. “Don't make this a fight, Charles. Find your shoes and get ready to go.” 

Charles stared at him dumbly for a moment, but did as he was told. He followed Erik out the door, downstairs, and past the rows of mailboxes lining the wall of the lobby. Charles paused when they reached the sidewalk, and Erik quirked an eyebrow at him. 

“Something wrong?” 

Charles closed his eyes, opened them again. Outside. He was outside, standing on the street, breathing crisp, cool autumn air while the early morning sun glared in his peripheral vision--

“You're not considering bolting, I hope.” 

“Of course not,” Charles answered hurriedly, clasping his travel mug to his chest. 

Erik smirked. “Then come on. I have an appointment to keep.” 

Charles quickened his pace to keep up with Erik's longer strides, staying close enough to his companion that their sleeves occasionally brushed together. “Where are we going?” 

“I told you. I have an appointment.” 

Charles frowned behind the lip of his cup. “That's a what, not a where.” 

They walked in silence for a few blocks more, Charles turning Erik's words over in his mind. He couldn't fathom why Erik would deign to bring him along on some errand, or “appointment”, especially after last night. Or, he realized, was this because of last night? Maybe Erik thought he'd have some kind of mental breakdown if he was left alone. And then Charles realized something else. 

“You didn't ask me this morning,” he said aloud. 

Erik barely spared him a glance as he slowed down, scanning the numbers on the brownstones they passed. “Ask what?” 

“About the inhibitor.” 

Erik stopped short, and Charles nearly bumped into him. “Would you like me to remove it?” he asked flatly. 

Charles dropped his gaze to the ground. “...No.” _Coward_ , he thought to himself. This morning had rattled him, and the night before...he wasn't sure which was more jarring, that he'd managed to ask Erik to stay with him, or that Erik had agreed. Mentioning the offer hadn't been a plea for escape, but a need to hear the words that had greeted him each morning for the past four weeks. Charles clung to their daily routine like a lifeline, one that Erik had established and was now throwing into disarray. 

“Are you coming?” Erik stood at the top of the steps leading up to a three-story brownstone building, waiting. 

Charles only nodded and followed Erik inside. As if he had a choice. As if he could summon the courage needed to run, or shout for help, or agree to have the chip in the back of his neck removed. That chip, Charles was beginning to realize, was what was truly keeping him prisoner. Perhaps that was what Erik had meant to teach him all along. 

Erik stopped at one of the apartment doors and rapped three times, short and brusque. The door opened just a crack, its rusting chain lock preventing it from opening further, and a chocolate brown eye peeked out at them. 

“It's me, Janos,” Erik rolled his eyes. “You know that lock won't keep me out.” 

“No,” came the soft, accented reply, as the door shut followed by the sound of scraping metal and reopened fully, “but it might slow the others.” 

The man standing before them was impeccably dressed, waves of thick, midnight black hair falling over the collar of his slate grey three piece suit. He had to be in his mid-twenties at least, and his cool, unwavering focus immediately settled on Charles even as Charles instinctively shifted behind Erik's shoulder. 

“Who is this?” 

“Not your concern,” Erik's tone remained steady, but the underlying threat in his words could not be ignored. “You have my order?” 

The corner of Janos' mouth quirked, but he said nothing as he reached behind the door and to grab a worn, nondescript briefcase. Erik moved to take it, but Janos held out his other hand. 

“My payment.” 

Erik smoothly removed a thick, white envelope from his inner breast pocket and handed it to Janos, who promptly traded him for the briefcase. Charles's eyebrows rose ever higher as he watched the exchange, watched Janos count newly minted hundred dollar bills and nod, satisfied, with the amount. He knew that Erik was involved in many illegal activities, but this just didn't seem like his style. Still, he dutifully followed Erik back down the hall, down the stairs and out onto the street before speaking up again. 

“What was that?” 

Erik didn't reply as he cut left onto a wider, more commercial street, and Charles picked up pace beside him. 

“Because,” Charles continued, his breath fogging the air as he spoke, “I'd like to know if you've made me an accessory to your crimes.” 

Erik snorted. “Believe me, that is the least of your concerns right now.” 

“What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?” 

They stopped at a disused subway entrance, close off by a padlocked iron gate. Erik tossed a furtive glance over his shoulder, and, satisfied that the street was empty, held up a hand before the gate. It swung open with a rusted creak, chain and padlock dropping to the ground in a neat coil. He descended into the darkened stairwell, Charles dogging his heels, and as the sunlight from the world above began to fade, Charles instinctively grabbed his hand. 

“Afraid of the dark?” Erik's tone was light and teasing, a stark contrast to the shadows that threatened to swallow them whole as they traveled further down. Charles could almost feel the subtle warp in the fabric of reality; the subway couldn't possibly be this deep underground. 

“More like afraid of getting lost down here,” he admitted an audible sigh of relief escaping his lips at the sight of a vague, artificial light source at the bottom of the stairs. 

“I'd find you,” Erik told him quietly. 

Charles' chest tightened, along with his grip on Erik's hand as they passed under flickering, fluorescent lights, through broken turnstiles to reach the train platform. There must be something terribly wrong with him, he thought, to crave comfort from his kidnapper, but he felt safer here in these tunnels by Erik's side than he ever had in his own home. 

Erik stepped right off the platform, hovering in mid-air for a moment as he waited for Charles to follow suit, and lowered them gently to the tracks. 

“Show off,” Charles muttered, and even in the gloom he could make out the ghost of a smile passing over Erik's lips. They continued on down the tunnel, a few meagre, stuttering rays of sunshine filtering through the grates high above. Charles gave up on seeing more than a foot or two in front of his face and just concentrated on not tripping over the tracks or stepping on Erik's feet. He very nearly accomplished the latter when Erik halted without warning, tilting his head to one side. 

“You might as well come out, Callisto,” he addressed a cluster of shadows just ahead. “I'd know that staff of yours anywhere.” 

One of the shadows shifted, and Charles could just make out a figure in ripped jeans and a denim vest, the staff in question clutched between both hands. Her hair was cut short and ragged, a self-made hack job if Charles had ever seen one, and fell over what Charles assumed was her one good eye, as the other was covered by a cloth eye patch. 

“And I could hear his footsteps from all the way down the tunnels,” she countered, pointing the tip of her staff in Charles' direction. Charles flinched reflexively, and immediately hated himself for it, but Erik gave his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. 

“I brought what you asked for,” Erik motioned with the briefcase he was carrying. 

Callisto's partly visible eye flicked from the briefcase, to Charles, and back again, cold and calculating, before retreating noiselessly down the tunnel. “Come on,” she called over her shoulder. “I could use an extra pair of hands.” 

~ 

Charles was shocked when Callisto led him and Erik impossibly deeper into the tunnels, where a ragtag group of transients, all visibly mutants, called a cold, dank stone chamber home. One had skin made of scales, another was small, green and amphibious, and still another seemed more apelike than human. A few, Charles thought, might be able to pass for human, until Callisto explained that it was their wayward power sets, not their appearance, than kept them sequestered. 

He watched, speechless, as Erik set down the briefcase on an unsteady wooden table and opened it wide, revealing rows of prescription drugs, clean syringes, and first aid supplies, eyes darting from Erik, to the supplies, and back again as if unable to process the connection between the two. He didn't have a chance to ask any of the questions crowding the forefront of his mind, however, before Erik put him to work, directing him to sort antibiotics, clean and redress wounds, and to make sure he wore a fresh pair of latex gloves, preventing contact with infection or unruly mutations. Any conversation between them was limited to Erik giving orders and Charles obeying, occasionally asking for clarification or murmuring soothing words to their patients. Charles was helping Callisto look for a certain medication for Artie, a young boy with big, round eyes like liquid mercury, when Erik called him over. A question mark ballooned over Artie's head, followed by the image of Charles walking away, and Charles nodded, handing the correct prescription bottle to Callisto before trotting dutifully over to Erik's side. 

“Give me a hand,” Erik gestured to the portable IV system, partially set up next to the adjacent cot. Charles couldn't see the patient past Erik's hunch form, but he followed Erik's succinct directions on how to hook a fresh IV bag onto the pole while Erik prepared the needle to be inserted into the patient's arm. 

“Tape's on the other bed,” Erik told him. Charles retrieved the roll of medical adhesive an carefully secured the needle to a bony, cadaverous forearm. Charles tried and failed to hide his reaction when he looked, really looked, at the woman lying on the bed, for whom malnourished would have been an understatement. She was barely more than a skeleton, loose flaps of skin stretched across sunken cheeks and jutting elbows. She noticed Charles staring at her and held his gaze without malice. 

“You're a mutant?” she asked, her voice dry and cracking. 

Charles nodded. “Yes.” 

“What can you do?” 

“I...I'm a telepath,” Charles answered quietly. He could feel Erik's eyes on him as he spoke, and had to suppress the urge to touch the nape of his neck. He already knew what this woman's so-called gift was. Callisto had pointed her out earlier, as an example of someone whose mutation did more harm than good. Everything she touched withered and died, plants, animals and humans alike. Most foods rotted before they reached her lips, and this IV system was the only way to provide the nutrition she sorely lacked. Sometimes, as she explained to Charles now, Artie's brother Leech would sit by her, effectively dampening her powers long enough to eat whatever scavenged goods they'd found above ground. 

“But I can't chain him to my side. He deserves a better life than this. She sighed and closed her eyes. I wish I could just turn it off.” 

Charles' face heated with shame and he turned away, only to find Erik waiting directly behind him, arms crossed. 

“Is this why you brought me here?” he hissed. “You wanted me to look around at all of this and see how lucky I am to have an invisible mutation?” 

“I brought you here because they needed help, and you needed to get out of your own head. Although I have to admit, this is a bonus,” Erik added thoughtfully. “Perhaps once you decide to stop being such a coward, you can donate that chip of yours to someone who needs it.” He took the roll of medical tape from Charles and brushed past him and began collecting leftover supplies from the adjacent cot. 

Charles threw his hands up in defeat. “Why. Why are you like this?” 

Erik cocked his head at him, he expression unreadable. “I know you think I'm the bad guy, Charles,” he said evenly. “But the only villain in your story is you.” Then, before Charles could form a response, “dispose of those gloves and help Callisto clean up. We're done here.” 

Charles' chest tightened, and suddenly the small, cavernous space was too small, too damp, too many shadows closing in, and he peeled off his latex gloves, barely aware from his feet carrying him to Callisto at the other end of the room to do as he was told. He was good at that, it seemed, following orders, settling into situations and accepting things as they were. He'd never had any agency over his own life, not as the perfect, rich, Oxford-bound prep school boy, not as his stepfather's personal punching bag, and not as the kidnapping victim of a mutant terrorist. The one time he was given a choice, to take back some modicum of control, he refused. He refused every, single morning when Erik offered to remove the inhibitor, just another piece of the easy, reliable routine that he clung to like a security blanket. 

“Whoa, there!” Callisto was eyeing him sideways with wry amusement. “You know we have to use these later, right?” 

Charles looked down at the now crushed and mangled box of bandages in his hands. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He passed the box to Callisto, who was still watching him while he tried to focus on sorting through various gauze sizes. 

“So what are you to him?” 

Charles fumbled with the box he'd been reaching for, barely catching it before it slipped through his fingers. Callisto snorted and tossed a few more packages into the bin at her feet. 

“We both know Erik's not the type to have friends.” She snatched the box he was holding away and threw it into the bin as well. “And he definitely doesn't treat you like one. So what are you?” she repeated. “Sidekick? Minion? That seems more his style.” 

Charles sputtered. “I'm no one's bloody minion!” 

Callisto just crossed her arms, waiting. 

“I'm just...I mean, I suppose I'm his--” _prisoner_ “--roommate.” 

Callisto burst out laughing, causing Erik to glance in their direction, while Charles bit his lip, embarrassed. 

“Roommate? Are you serious? And you let him treat you like that?” 

“It's not as though I have a choice in the matter,” Charles grumbled, returning his attention to the last of the individual gauze packages.

“You've always got a choice, kid. I figured Erik would have at least taught you that much.” 

“I hope you're having a good laugh at my expense.” 

Charles nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Erik's voice behind him, stiffening as Erik laced their fingers together. It was different from before, more possessive than reassuring, but Charles couldn't help the warmth that spread from fingertip to forearm as Erik gave his hand a light, affectionate squeeze. No, Charles reminded himself, this was ownership, and nothing more. Never mind that Erik's hand in his had somehow become a new constant to cling to when Charles felt like he was drowning, in nightmares, or memories, or the simple darkness of a subway tunnel, or--

“Charles.” Erik and Callisto were both looking at him, their faces etched with concern. 

“Sorry.” Charles shook his head and attempted a small, unconvincing smile. “I think I just need some air.” 

Callisto ruffled his hair with a grin. “Take care of yourself, kid. Don't let this jerk boss you around too much.” She leaned in to whisper conspiratorially in his ear. “You know he's only like this because he likes you.” 

Charles blushed furiously as Callisto sauntered away to finish cleaning up, and Erik quirked an eyebrow at him. 

“What did she say to you?” 

Charles took a slow, calming breath, refusing to meet Erik's eyes. “Nothing important,” he responded placidly. Distantly, he heard Erik's voice in his mind. _Because you needed to get out of your own head._

“Are you alright? You look pale.” _Charles, it's me. I'm not going to hurt you._

“Fine.” _It was just a bad dream. You're safe._

“You look pale. Let's get you something to eat.” _The only villain in your story is you._

Charles nodded mutely and let Erik lead him out of the tunnels, and into the bright, afternoon sun.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to stay a few chapters ahead at all times (I'm writing chapter 7 right now) so hopefully this streak of regular-ish updates will continue...? This one feels a little short, but there's a lot crammed in. Also, you guys are the absolute best, thank you again for all the positivity in your comments!

Charles didn't dream that night. For the first time since the night he'd been kidnapped, he slept soundly, undisturbed,and was dressed and alert when Erik handed him his usual Earl Grey. It wasn't in a travel cup this time, just a chipped, ceramic mug, and Charles hid his disappointment behind the rim as he took a sip. Yesterday had been a fluke. A privilege, even, to be able to leave the tiny apartment for a morning. He was still a prisoner, and he was a fool to think that anything had changed. Charles pushed his eggs around on his plate, his appetite dwindling as he resigned himself to another day of Netflix and studying for exams he couldn't attend. 

“I have another...appointment today,” Erik said, breaking the silence between them. “I can't take you with me this time. She—it's too dangerous.” He corrected himself quickly, but not quickly enough. 

Charles looked up from his barely touched plate, a lump forming in his throat. “She?” he croaked. Of course there was a she. Why wouldn't there be a woman in Erik's life? And why did the very thought of a “she” cause Charles' insides to grow cold? 

“It's not what you think,” Erik sounded almost defensive, and Charles remembered what Callisto had said about Erik not having friends. “Our relationship is strictly professional. She has some information I need.” 

Charles exhaled audibly, hating himself for feeling relieved. “”Are you—I mean, it's not my business, but--” 

“No,” Erik cut in. “I'm not seeing anyone. I did, once, but that was a long time ago.” 

This time, it was Erik who averted his eyes, dropping his gaze to his lap. Charles bit his lip, assuming the conversation was over, but Erik spoke up again. 

“Her name was Magda. She was the first person to find out that I'm a mutant, and she accepted me as I was.” 

“What happened?” Charles asked gently. 

Erik focused his attention on the fork in his hand, willing each individual prong to curl into itself. “There was a fire. I could have saved her, but when I started to use my powers, her parents—the neighbours—they turned on me. They held me back, they made me watch her burn, they let her burn, because she was better off dead than with me. A mutant.” Bitterness tinged his voice and he released the fork. It hovered in midair for a moment before crumpling into a tight ball and dropping with a metallic thunk onto the table. “I wasn't strong enough to fight them then. We were sixteen.” 

Charles rubbed the back of his neck, acutely aware of the inhibitor that Erik so despised. To let an innocent girl die, because he boyfriend was a mutant... “I didn't know,” Charles whispered. 

Erik stood from the table and collected the dishes, tossing the ruined fork onto his plate. “How could you? I've never told anyone about that day.” 

“Not that. I mean,” Charles swallowed thickly. “I've been so sheltered. All this time, I never saw them. The ones suffering, in hiding like the Morlocks, or in plain sight, every day fearing for their lives and their loved ones. I just wanted to fit in, keep my head down, be normal.” His voice broke on the word normal. “I was so wrong. All this time.” 

He stiffened as he felt Erik's hand rest on his shoulder. “Then make it right,” was Erik's only reply.

He left Charles sitting alone at the table while he washed the dishes,, put on his coat, and slipped out the door, which shut with a lighter than usual click behind him. Charles stood and cautiously approached the door, examining the lock before slowly turning it clockwise. It unlocked with the same, soft click, and Charles dropped his hand, taking a step back as though it might turn into a snake and bite him. Then, hesitantly, he reached for the doorknob. It opened easily, too easily, and then he was staring out at an empty hallway with stained taupe-coloured walls and gaudy, 1970s carpeting. 

“What fresh hell is this,” he breathed. Charles closed the door again, locked it, and back away. A full minute passed, and he repeated the process, unlocking, opening, staring, and shutting and locking the door once more before moving to sit down on the couch. Was this some kind of test? Was Erik letting him go? At this point, the former seemed far more likely. 

Briefly, Charles considered leaving. A scenario took shape in his mind of packing his bag, putting on his shoes and Erik's navy peacoat, and leaving the apartment. He'd walk until he found a main street to flag a cab and take it home, back to his alcoholic mother, who probably hadn't even realized he was gone, and a stepfather that would punish him for returning and ruining his life, now entirely perfect without Charles in it. Oh, they'd appear on camera as a happy, tearfully reunited family, but the moment Charles slipped into his own familiar, queen-sized bed, he'd spend the entire night wide awake, pretending to read or study while sneaking furtive glances at the door. He knew Kurt could burst in at any moment, drunk and screaming obscenities, or worse, calm and calculating, ready to carry out whatever sadistic plans he'd come up with that night. 

Charles pulled his knees up to his chest, burying his face in his forearms. He couldn't go back to that. Not now, and not ever. It was a test, Charles realized, and one that he intended to pass with flying colours. 

~

Erik wasn't anxious. That's what he told Emma when he met up with her, aggressively fortifying his mental shields while she just smirked and informed him that it was rolling off of him in waves. Any telepath within a ten mile radius, she said, could feel exactly how anxious he was. Erik had just shaken his head, vehemently denied any such weakness, and accepted the envelope that Emma offered him. He wasn't anxious, he insisted to himself as he took the stairs in his building two at a time, rushing to get home over two hours earlier than usual. He was...curious. Yes, that was the word for this crushing sense of impending loss, clouding his thoughts and weighing down every step he took. 

He had decided that it was necessary to give Charles the choice, to show him that he was no longer a prisoner and offer a way out. They would never be able to move forward otherwise. Rationalizing the situation didn't help the fact that Erik could hear his pulse pounding in his ears as he crossed the hallway in four long strides and unlocked the door with barely a thought, too focused on seeing Charles again to realize that the door was still locked. Charles, who was humming tunelessly as he spooned leftover rice and vegetables into a frying pan, lost in his own world until Erik closed the door behind him, deliberately louder than usual to announce his presence. 

“Oh, you're back early,” Charles glanced over his shoulder with a smile, and Erik found himself smiling back. The very fact that Charles was still here, cheerfully oblivious to Erik's inner tumult caused his pulse to slow and his heart to settle comfortably within his chest, and alright, he admitted to himself as he hung his coat up on the rack in the hall, maybe he had been a little anxious. 

“Are you hungry?” Charles asked, turning back around to scrutinize the two bottles of sauce on the kitchen counter. “I'm making stir fry. Szechuan or sweet chili?” 

“Sure. Whatever you like,” Erik answered, feigning nonchalance. Then, almost as an afterthought, “Thank you.” 

~

 

The evening passed uneventfully, but Erik was perfectly content to sit on the couch next to Charles, taking a quiet satisfaction when Charles didn't flinch as their shoulders brushed together when Erik reached over to type in the wi-fi password on the laptop resting on Charles' blanket-covered legs. He listened while Charles ranted about the paper that he was submitting, how he could have written an essay about Hamlet in his sleep, which was probably for the best since he didn't actually have a copy of the play right now. 

“You could have asked for one,” Erik told him softly. 

Charles snorted. “Oh yes, a wanted criminal strolling into a bookstore to ask for Shakespeare. That would have gone over so well.” 

Erik only shrugged. “No one recognizes me without the helmet.” _Hold on_. “Why Charles, I didn't think you cared.” 

Charles' cheeks flushed pink as he closed the laptop before setting it on the coffee table and grabbing a smooth wooden case from the shelf below. “Who am I going to beat at chess if you up and disappear on me?” 

“You just want me here because I have the wi-fi password.” They set up the chess board between them on the couch and played game after game until they were both yawning, and Erik reached for his phone in his jeans pocket to check the time. 

“Checkmate,” Charles said, biting his lower lip as he moved his rook to trap Erik's king.

Erik just shook his head with a wry smile. “One of these nights I'll actually win one.” he paused, realizing what he'd just implied, but Charles didn't react. 

“To be fair, you put up a good fight that round. You had me in check three times.” Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, Charles holding Erik's gaze just a beat too long before looking away. “Um. I suppose we should call it a night.” 

Erik nodded, deliberately ignoring the way Charles' fingertips gazed his neck, right where the inhibitor was, while he picked up the glasses pieces and placed them gently into their velvet lined case. Erik hadn't asked him about it this morning, having assumed that leaving the front door accessible left a clear enough message. Charles hadn't mentioned the chip, or the door, all evening, and Erik found himself wondering if Charles had even noticed what Erik had done. 

“Did you--” Erik stopped himself, the question poised on the tip of his tongue. 

Charles was folding his blanket, and clutched it to his chest while he picked up an errant pawn that had rolled between the cushions. “Hmm?” 

Erik offered him the box, and Charles gently placed the pawn in the empty space next to its fellows. “I was going to ask if you'd seen the missing pawn,” Erik lied. “But you found it.” 

Charles' expression was unreadable, and Erik shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. 

“You,” Charles said finally, “are a terrible liar.” 

“Charles--” 

“You left the door unlocked this morning. Well,” he elaborated, “un-whatever it is you do to it.” 

“...Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“You know why.” 

“You wanted to see what I'd do. If I'd stay.” 

“And you did,” Erik pointed out. He put the chess box down on the coffee table and drew himself to his full height. “Are you regretting your decision?” 

“No,” Charles replied hastily, and Erik's heart swelled. Charles wanted this. He had chosen this. “I just don't understand. Do you want me to leave?” 

“No,” Erik echoed Charles' response with just as much conviction. 

Charles' shoulders bobbed as he adjusted his grip on the blanket in his arms. “Then what do you want from me?” 

That, Erik thought, was an excellent question. He had no idea what he wanted from this. He wasn't even sure what “this” was. He just knew he didn't want Charles to leave, but he also didn't want to keep him here against his will. Erik had just wanted to do something, to make some kind of change that would put them on equal footing. 

Evidently, he was taking far too long to sort out his emotions, because Charles rolled his eyes and stalked off down the hall, pausing to shove the blanket onto a shelf in the closet next to the bathroom. 

“You drive me mad,” he was saying, loudly enough that Erik could still hear him from the living room. “You will literally argue for hours if it's about mutant rights and politics. You make grand speeches on television as if you're the mouthpiece for all of mutantkind. But try to have a normal conversation, and I'm lucky if I get three words and a grunt out of you.” 

He was in his room now, the door left open while he changed into pyjamas. Erik padded down the hall after him, lingering in the doorway while Charles tugged a fresh white t-shirt over his head (one of Erik's, even though Erik had brought him his own pyjamas weeks ago) and turned to face him, unsurprised that Erik had followed. 

“Sometimes I'm tempted to have you remove this inhibitor just so I'll know what you're thinking.” Charles cut himself off, fingers moving automatically to touch the back of his neck again. “I didn't mean—I would never--” 

“I wanted you to stay.” This room was too small, too stifling for this thing between them, all the words left unspoken that Erik had just attempted to condense into a single sentence. Charles remained frozen, silently waiting for Erik to continue. He'd done the same thing this morning, Erik realized, when he'd given Erik a space to fill with the remnants of his past. 

“I wanted you to stay,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “But it had to be your choice. I can't--” he stumbled over his words, rubbed his face with his hands, tried again. “I can't keep you here like a prisoner any longer. Something needed to change.” 

Charles was staring at him with that odd, inscrutable look on his face again, considering, and Erik felt more exposed than he'd ever been. 

“Thank you.” 

Erik released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. “For what?” He hadn't done anything besides make a complete fool out of himself in front of the only person that mattered. 

“For letting me in.” a smile ghosted over Charles' lips and he averted his eyes, gathering his discarded cardigan to fold it neatly on the dresser. “Good night, Erik.” 

“Good night, Charles.” Erik closed the door gently behind him and leaned back against it for a long time, listening to the quiet rustling of movement inside, before retreating to his own room for the night. 

~

_The lights were blindingly bright, leaving spots in his field of vision as he was wheeled through yet another set of swinging doors and into the operating theatre. He couldn't feel his legs, slack and heavy against the footrests of the wheelchair. The anaesthetic was kicking in, in all the wrong places._

_He was lying face down now, his eyelids drooping, but this was wrong, he was still awake and he couldn't feel his legs but he could feel the cold, biting steel of the scalpel against his neck and the precisely ordered thoughts of the surgeon leaning over him--_

_STOP!_

_His mouth felt full of cotton, but his mind cried out for him. The surgeon didn't react, instead slicing deeper and Charles tried again, screaming STOP! I'm awake! Over and over until his mind couldn't form a coherent thought anymore and there it was, the tiny piece of metal that would stop all of it, he could feel it sliding between folds of skin and its microscopic wires finding their way to the correct neurons and synapses, shutting down his telepathy bit by bit like stars blinking out in the night sky--_

Charles shot up in bed, nails scrabbling at the back of his neck as he leaned forward, gasping for air. His middle finger dug deep, drawing blood, and he hissed in pain, pressing the heel of his hand to his temple. He wasn't there, he reminded himself, this room was too dark and the bed was too wide to be a gurney. He pushed the duvet back, still half asleep, and slung his legs over the side. He had to get up, had to be anywhere but alone in his own head. 

Charles thought fleetingly of the Morlocks, and how they were always in the dark, but never alone. Perhaps if he had fought harder to keep his powers and his autonomy, he would have ended up with Callisto and the others. 

The door opened—he was in front of a door now that wasn't his own, how did he get here? And Erik was frowning down at him. Charles blinked and took an involuntary step backwards. 

“Is something wrong?” 

Erik's frown deepened, his brow creasing with worry. “You tell me.” 

Charles must have seemed lost, because Erik rubbed sleepily at the stubble on his jaw before clarifying, “You knocked. What's wrong?” 

Charles fidgeted with the drawstrings of his pants. “I don't know.” 

Erik huffed out a breath, and Charles dropped the drawstrings and wrapped his arms around himself. “It was so bright, and the the lights went out and I can feel it in my head--” he cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders-- “all the little wires, like switches, turning off the lights and breaking circuits...” he was mumbling now, more to himself than to Erik, and he barely felt Erik's hand on his arm guiding him into the bedroom. 

“Come to bed,” Erik told him gently. He sounded as if he thought Charles might break at any moment, and honestly, Charles didn't blame him. He let Erik lead him to the bed and tuck him in, closing his eyes as he felt Erik slide in beside him. Charles rolled onto his side, resting his forehead against Erik's shoulder and his hand on Erik's bicep. 

“Take it out, he whispered. “I don't want it anymore.” When Erik didn't respond, he added, “the inhibitor.” 

“I know what you mean, Charles.” Erik's hands were folded over his abdomen, and he stared fixedly at the ceiling as he spoke. “Go to sleep. We'll discuss this in the morning.” 

“And you'll remove it.” 

“If that's what you want.” 

Satisfied, Charles curled against Erik's side and drifted into a blissfully dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, it's a new chapter! Thank you again for all of your lovely comments and kudos!

Erik was gone when Charles woke up, his pillow already growing cold when Charles yawned and reached across the bed to snatch at the yellow Post-It left behind. 

_An urgent matter has come up. Back in a few hours._

More urgent than finally getting his chip removed, or that the two of them had just spent the night in the same bed? Charles sighed heavily an crawled out of bed. So much for discussing this in the morning. 

He left the kettle to boil while he took a shower, the water scalding his skin while he stood motionless beneath the spray. Afterwards, he toweled himself dry and dressed immediately, seeking comfort in the familiarity of his fraying navy cardigan. One glance at the hamper in his closet told him that he was wearing his last clean pair of pants, and of course Erik wasn't here to do a laundry run. The last time he'd worn the same tan chinos four three days straight, Erik had handed him a white laundry basket and told him to fill it up, saying he was due for a load of his own, anyway. 

Charles dragged the hamper out into the hallway and headed to the kitchen. Erik kept jars of change on the top of the fridge, and Charles had to stand on his toes to reach. He dumped a pile of quarters onto the counter and grabbed a handful without bothering to count it. His only experience with coin laundry was watching television sitcoms, a fact that had caused Erik to look at him like he was from Mars when Charles had mentioned it. He scooped the rest back into the jar and made his tea in a travel mug. He'd figure it out when he got there. 

Charles tossed the paperback copy of The Last King of Scotland he'd been reading onto his clothes, and was halfway to the door when he stopped, considering. Erik would have a conniption if he returned and Charles wasn't there. He went back into Erik's room, looking for something, anything metal of a decent size, until his gaze landed on a wristwatch sitting on the top of the bookshelf, titanium glinting in the sunlight streaming through the window. He picked it up gingerly and slipped it over his wrist, and he had to tighten it to the furthest notch to prevent it from falling off. It would do, he decided, pivoting on his heel and closing the door behind him. 

The washing machines were easy enough to decipher. Of course, it helped that there was a massive sign hanging up on the wall, telling him how much detergent to use, how many quarters he needed, and what each of the settings meant. He didn't bother separating by colour (his clothes were mainly blue, white, and tan anyway), pushed his coins into the provided slot until the machine beeped at him in assent, and was more than a little self-satisfied when he hit the “start” button and a counter for 42 minutes flashed onto the small digital screen. Charles glanced at his watch—and realized it wasn't ticking. The hands were frozen on 7:15. He rolled his eyes. Of course the self-styled Magneto couldn't keep an analog clock working. 

There were no chairs, but there was a long, white Formica table against the wall across from the machines, and Charles nudged his hamper underneath it with his foot before sitting on top, legs crossed, book in hand. If nothing else, at least this was a change in scenery. 

~

He'd been so close. Closer than he'd ever been, thanks to Emma's tip-off about the docks. But the boat was too dense, too much metal to hold even with the help of the massive chains that he'd wielded to catch the craft, and he'd had to let it go or the effort might have killed him. A year ago, maybe, he would have done it, not caring if he died as long as he took Shaw with him, but things were different now. Erik hadn't realized just how different until he was on the pier, knees buckling under the monumental stress of halting Shaw's ostentatious cruise ship, and he couldn't get Charles' damned face out of his head. 

He'd left that stupid Post-It note on his pillow, letting Charles know he'd be back, because even with his revenge finally within his grasp, he was still concerned with Charles' well-being. Had he woken up with another nightmare? Was he upset when he found the bed empty beside him? 

The announcer called Erik's stop, and he exited the train with the lunch hour crowd, keeping his head down and his fedora pulled low over his eyes. No one ever recognized him without the helmet, which was stashed in the black duffel bag slung over his shoulder, but better safe than sorry. He was far too weak after his encounter with Shaw to defend himself. 

Erik swore under his breath. He was still so weak, and he needed to be stronger in order to prevent a repeat of this morning's performance. It might have helped if he hadn't been distracted with thoughts of how it felt to have Charles curled against him last night, or if Charles had slept alright without him there. He kept a brisk pace all the way back to his building, wondering what exactly he was supposed to do about any of it, not to mention Charles' sudden desire to be rid of the chip in his neck, when he felt something very, very wrong at the edge of his senses and stopped in his tracks. The apartment door was unlocked. He was certain he'd locked it this morning, despite how desperate he'd been to catch up with Shaw. His heart thundered in his chest as he turned over possible scenarios. The Brotherhood had found out about Charles. Someone had kidnapped him (again). Or worse, Charles had just up and left, Erik realized, using a tendril of his power to turn the knob and soundlessly push the door open. Maybe Charles had had enough and decided to leave for good. 

The latter option hit him like a punch to the throat, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him flying from room to room, calling Charles' name even though he didn't expect an answer. The Post-It he'd left was lying discarded on his pillow, as if Charles had read it and tossed it aside before getting out of bed. What struck him, however, was not what was left behind, but what was missing. He strode to the bookcase and glared down at the lopsided circle left in a fine layer of dust on the wood. His father's watch was missing. It was all he had left of his parents, other than his mother's locket, tucked safely away in the back of his sock drawer. It had been there this morning, Erik remembered, and now it was gone. Taken. And knowing Charles, he'd taken it for a reason. 

Erik took a slow, steadying breath and closed his eyes. God, he was so tired. The watch's titanium signature was familiar enough that he could locate it, if it was close by, without too much additional strain on himself. He sifted through water pipes, televisions, key rings, and every metallic appliance in his way, blocking all of them out until—there. 

The basement was only three floors below, but it felt like days before he reached the laundry room, following the pull of his father's watch like a magnet (ha). He paused in the doorway, unable to take a step further as the adrenaline waned and exhaustion took hold. 

“Charles.” 

Charles looked up from his book at the sound of his name, inserting a bookmark to keep his place as he slid off the table he'd been sitting on. He took in Erik's ashen complexion, the way Erik leaned against the door frame like a crutch, and raised his eyes to meet Erik's own. 

“You look terrible.” Charles left his book on the table and squinted at the timer on the adjacent dryer. “Laundry's almost done, if you want to—Erik!” 

Charles caught him before his face hit the floor, draping Erik's arm over his shoulder and wrapping his own arm around Erik's waist for support. “Let's get you back upstairs.” 

They climbed the stairs in silence, Charles occasionally grunting as he shifted Erik's weight against him. Erik did his best to help himself up the stairs, but his legs felt full of lead and his thoughts were sluggish. He was so weak, his energy completely expended from the effort of finding that watch. 

“Hey,” Charles nudged Erik with his elbow, lightly jabbing the small of Erik's back. “You have to stay awake for me, alright? Just a bit further.” 

Erik mumbled something unintelligible, his eyes fluttering shut again. 

“Don't you dare!” Charles jostled him hard enough that Erik opened his eyes and raised his head in time to catch a glimpse of the hallway before them. He barely registered closing the distance between there and his bed, where Charles carefully lowered him onto the rumpled sheets and snatched the Post-It from the pillow before moving to unlace Erik's boots. Erik managed to sit up enough to shrug halfway out of his coat, and Charles did the rest before pulling the blankets over Erik's prone form. Satisfied, Charles backed away from the bed, draping Erik's coat over his desk chair as he left. 

“Where are you going?” is what Erik thought he asked, but what left his mouth was completely garbled. Charles still seemed to understand him well enough. 

“To get the laundry,” he replied, as if it should have been obvious. 

“But--” 

“Rest now,” Charles interrupted, a note of impatience creeping into his voice. “I'll be back in a few minutes.” 

“And you'll stay.” 

“Mmhmm.” 

“Promise?” 

Charles paused, halfway out the bedroom door. “Yes, Erik, I promise.” 

~

When Erik next opened his eyes, Charles was stretched out on the bed next to him, ankles crossed while he leaned against the headboard. He was reading again, always reading, and Erik wouldn't be surprised if Charles had been through Erik's entire collection at least once by now. Charles hadn't noticed yet that Erik was awake, engrossed as he was in his book, and Erik took the opportunity to enjoy the way Charles let his guard down when he thought no one was watching. His posture was looser, more open, without his legs tucked defensively against him, and as he read he allowed his emotions to show in the brightness of his eyes and the way the corners of his mouth lifted, reacting to the characters of whatever world he'd lost himself in. 

Erik's fingers twitched involuntarily, grazing Charles' thigh, and that was enough for Charles to set his book down and pull his knees to his chest. “You're awake.” 

“What time is it?” 

“Quarter past nine. You were unconscious most of the day.” 

Erik blinked. “Well, fuck,” came out of his mouth before he could stop it. 

Charles snorted. “I'm surprised you weren't out for longer. You looked like death warmed over earlier.” 

Erik dragged himself into an upright position and pushed the blankets aside. “I have to make a call.” 

“You're not going anywhere,” Charles told him, and Erik stiffened at the hand on his arm. 

“I'll do as I please.” 

“Of course you will,” Charles soothed, his tone only a little condescending. “But you're in no condition to do much of anything right now.” 

Erik ignored him and stood up, only to have the floor tilt beneath his feet and he dropped down again, hunched over and taking shallow, measured breaths to prevent the bile from rising in his throat. 

“Erik.” Charles was in front of him now, soft and chiding. “I won't ask again.” 

“I'm not a child,” Erik grumbled, but he laid back down against the pillows and didn't protest when Charles rearranged the blankets, adding, “Phone's in my coat pocket.” 

Charles disappeared and returned a few minutes later with two steaming cups of tea. “Here,” he said, offering one to Erik. “This will help with the nausea.” 

“My phone.” 

“You are insufferable.” Charles yanked the device from his back pocket and tossed it onto Erik's lap. “How about, 'thank you for carrying my sorry arse all the way up six flights of stairs, Charles'? Or, thanks for sitting with me for nine hours while I slept off whatever monumentally stupid decisions I made this morning, that I won't ever tell you a thing about because for all your talk about wanting to move forward you're still keeping secrets?” 

Charles had never gotten angry with him before, not really. Seeing him now, shaking with barely contained rage and gripping his mug so tight that Erik thought it might shatter, Erik was actually a little proud of him for lashing out. He meant to answer with an apology, or at least a thank you, but what he actually said was, “You stayed here the entire time?” 

Charles stared at him for a long moment, then unclenched his hands, his shoulders sagging. “Yes, Erik. I was here the entire bloody time.” He set his tea down on the nightstand and sunk down onto the edge of the bed. “Drink your tea. It'll help.” 

Erik wrinkled his nose in distaste, but did as he was told and winced as the hot liquid slid down his throat. “How do you drink this every morning?” 

“I'm British. We fix everything with tea.” 

The silence between them was palpable, lengthening from almost companionable to just plain awkward until Erik quietly said, “I'm sorry.” 

Charles raised an eyebrow. “There's a first.” 

“I'm serious, Charles.” He put his mug down next to the other one and focused his gaze on the opposite wall. “I'm sorry for kidnapping you, for keeping you here against your will, and for thinking that somehow my actions were keeping you safe. And maybe they do, but they also make you miserable and I can't tell if it's worth it anymore. Any of it.” He paused, closed his eyes, opened them again. “Maybe I should have just let you go that night.” 

“I want to be here.” There was that rage again, simmering just below the surface. “I chose to be here. There is nowhere I would rather be than at your side.” He clamped his mouth shut, embarrassed, and looked away. 

“I went down to the docks this morning,” Erik said, and Charles glanced at him, incredulous. “To find the man that killed my mother.” 

~

Erik told him everything. Charles moved only once, to sit cross-legged on the bed, his thigh resting against Erik's calf, and didn't dare interrupt for fear of missing something or causing Erik to shut down. He listened while Erik narrated his mother's death, how she was shot point blank while Erik was told that all he had to do was move a coin with next to no ferrous content in order to save her. 

“I should have tried to stop the bullet instead,” he commented bitterly. “But I was young and stupid and Shaw was...well.” 

Charles dropped his eyes while Erik brushed away a stray tear. He'd never displayed any kind of vulnerability before, and it made them both uncomfortable, but Erik carried on, explaining that he wouldn't find out what happened to his father until years later. Shaw had had him deported and imprisoned under false charges, and when Erik tracked down his location, The prison staff gave him their condolences and his' father's personal effects. The watch Charles was wearing burned against his skin like a brand, but when he started to remove it, Erik shook his head. “This isn't a guilt trip, Charles. I'm just telling you what happened.” 

Shaw was grooming Erik to be his right hand, the perfect soldier, ready to carry out orders with power and precision. He cultivated Erik's mutation through endless hours of physical torture, convinced that strength was borne from pain, in order to unlock what Shaw called his true potential. Erik shuddered and brought his tea, now lukewarm, to his lips. 

“And when he was bored of physical torture, Shaw had his telepath go to work on my mind. Under his command, she ripped me apart and left the fragments behind for me to piece back together. But that wasn't all Emma left for me.” 

The name on Erik's phone, Charles remembered, the one that had been ringing him off the hook all afternoon. But if she had done such horrific things to him, then why-- 

“She gave me a way out.” Erik's mouth curved upwards as Charles struggled to keep his expression neutral. “I know it's hard to believe that the source of my torment was also the key to my freedom, but she was a pawn as much as I was. Each day, Shaw would have her bring him into my mind with her, so that he could watch her work. She caused enough damage to make it convincing, and left behind instructions for our escape.” 

It had taken months for the opportunity to arise, Erik elaborated, with Shaw constantly vigilant and wearing a helmet that shielded him against telepathic intrusions. Erik couldn't remove the helmet either, as it was made from nonmetal elements. Charles' eyes flicked briefly to the duffel bag on the floor, but he said nothing. 

“The details aren't important. What matters is that Emma took out Shaw's security, broke me out of my room, And got us both out of the compound before Shaw returned from an offsite meeting.” 

Charles imagined Shaw, faceless and looming, returning to fin both of his prized subjects missing. “Didn't he come after you?” 

Erik's expression darkened. “He's always had eyes on me. Until recently, that is,” he added hastily. “I dropped off the grid once I graduated high school in order to hunt him down.” 

“He must have figured out that you're Magneto,” Charles pointed out. “There can't be that many metal benders of your calibre.” 

“As far as Emma and I know, he's assumed we're both in New York. He just doesn't care.” Erik shrugged. “He's probably preoccupied with a new project.” 

“Another mutant, you mean.” 

“Yes.” 

“Another mutant,” Charles repeated. “One that he thinks can take your place, or Emma's.” 

Erik sighed, his fingers closing around the phone that lay discarded in his lap. “Yes, I am aware of exactly what that entails. Once I get my hands on him, no one else will have to suffer like I did.” 

“You realize that killing Shaw will not bring you peace.” 

“He killed my mother and father,” Erik responded flatly. “He tortured me, and convinced me it was for my own good. He turned me into a monster, Charles. Peace was never an option.” 

Erik's fingers closed around his phone, which was still lying in his lap where Charles had tossed it earlier. He typed in his passcode and swiped the screen with his thumb, frowning at the screen. “Why don't I have any notifications about these missed calls and texts from Emma?” He scrolled further, his frown deepening into a scowl. “And why is the most recent call marked as answered?” 

Charles picked at a piece of lint on his cardigan sleeve, entirely engrossed in the process as though Erik hadn't spoken. 

“Charles.” 

“I might have answered that last one,” he admitted, now chipping at a dried red stain on his cuff, probably from last night's dinner. He really should have thrown this sweater in the wash. 

“You did what?” Erik exploded. He leaned forward and knocked Charles' hand away from his sleeve, not hard enough to hurt, but Charles still flinched like he'd been slapped. “I told you she was dangerous, and this is what you do? And how did you break into my phone? No, you know what?” He ran his free hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “I don't even want to know. Just...tell me what she said to you.” 

Charles didn't know what he'd expected. Probably exactly this, if he was being honest with himself. But the phone rang over and over again, and the text messages were verging on panicked, and he just wanted her to know that Erik was alright. Was that so bad? According to Erik, apparently it was.

“She knew who I was.” Charles looked askance at him. “It seems I was the only one without a clue.” 

“And?” Erik pressed.

“And she asked where you were. If you'd survived and made it home. I told her the truth-- you were unconscious, but alive, and that I was keeping an eye on you.” 

Erik tossed the phone aside, and when he spoke again, he was back to a normal decibel. “Jesus Christ, Charles. Alright. Anything else?” 

_You deserve better than him_. “No.” Then, before Erik could pick up on the lie, “Your passcode is the stopped time on your watch.” Charles held up his wrist to illustrate his point. 

Erik stared at him, searching for Charles didn't know what, and then pushed the covers back again to get out of bed. 

“Where are you going?” 

“To the bathroom. Unless you have a problem with that.” 

Erik brushed past him and left the room, and Charles listened to the sound of the bathroom door slamming, followed a minute or two later by the toilet flushing, and a stream of water that sounded too aggressive for the sink. Charles laid down on the bed, listening to the shower running as he curled onto his side. The pillow was still warm, which was a small comfort when its owner was currently furious with him. He had known that Erik would be angry. Erik's general state of being was angry, but this was different. Charles had just upended all of the walls that Erik spent so long carefully constructing, and this was the fallout. It was messy and terrifying, and he had no idea what kind of mood Erik would be in when he came back from his shower. 

Charles closed his eyes, willing his heart to slow its frantic beating. _Calm your mind,_ he told himself. _Calm. Your mind._ There were really only two options, Charles rationalized. Either things would change, or they wouldn't. 

When Erik returned to the bedroom, Charles was near falling asleep. He was done with the arguing, and the worrying, and this entire bloody day, and he was relieved when he felt the depression of the mattress behind him, signifying that Erik was joining him without another fight. And when Erik draped his forearm over Charles' waist, Charles quashed his usual flight response and remained where he was, tucked against Erik's chest where, not for the first time, he felt like he belonged.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm away all weekend at a convention, which means no writing and no posting while I run around as Sardonyx and Negasonic Teenage Warhead xD Fun fact: I actually have the rest of this relatively planned out, and if you're curious, I'm aiming for probably 10-12 chapters total. We'll see. Thank you so much for all of your continued feedback!

“So,” Erik began conversationally, “do you want me to remove that chip?” He was digging a waffle iron out of one of the lower cupboards while Charles watched, fascinated, as a metal whisk stirred the batter unattended. The mixing bowl floated over to where Erik was now plugging in the appliance, and he glanced sideways at Charles as the bowl came to rest on the counter. 

“Hmm? Oh yes, that.” 

“Is that a 'yes, I want it removed', or a 'yes, I remember asking you to do that at three in the morning'?” 

Colour rose almost comically from Charles's collar to his cheeks, and Erik had to repress a self-satisfied grin. It wasn't until he'd poured the batter and closed the lid on the waffle iron that Charles answered, “Both.” 

Erik leaned back against the countertop, crossing his arms over his chest. “And you're sure?” 

Charles nodded. “No more hiding.” 

God, he looked so sincere and earnest that Erik had to look away. Those blue eyes of his were almost unearthly the way they shone, and there was something else there that Erik couldn't quite place. Hope? Maybe, but Charles hadn't gotten that from him. He blinked and turned to retrieve two plates from the cupboard over the sink. 

“I'm not doing it today. I'm still in recovery mode after Shaw.” He flexed his fingers, and the drawer to his right slid open. “Minor surgery isn't a party trick. If we're doing this, we're doing it right.” 

He handed Charles two sets of utensils and napkins, and scowled when he caught Charles smirking at him. “What now?” 

“Recovery mode?” 

“Yes, fine, you were right,” Erik acknowledged grudgingly. “Is that what you want to hear?” 

“It certainly doesn't hurt.” 

“It's your fault,” Erik grumbled. “I wouldn't care so much if my well-being wasn't directly tied to yours.” 

“Have you always been this self-effacing?” 

“You'll excuse me if I'm little concerned. The last time I was close to someone, it went up in flames,” Erik reminded him. “Literally.” His tone was light, but Charles still moved to his side, covering Erik's hand with his own. 

“I'm not going anywhere,” he said softly. “And I don't break easily.” And then he was walking away, opening the freezer to find the frozen blueberries that Erik had bought last week. 

“I need to check my email later,” Charles informed him over his shoulder, and Erik returned his attention to making waffles, grateful for the change of subject. “I asked for permission to do my exams online, and I should receive confirmation today.” 

“You know you could just go to your exams. You're not trapped here anymore.” 

Charles made a face. “And deal with all the questions about where I've been for the past month and a half? No thanks.” 

“Funny how your family hasn't said or done anything about this.” Erik plated the first waffle, slid the dish into the oven to keep warm, and started pouring the next round of batter. 

“They've probably assumed I'm staying at Raven's.” he shrugged. “Or they just don't care.” 

“Who's Raven?” 

“My sister. Adoptive sister,” Charles amended. “My father took her in, and my stepfather threw her out. Her foster parents are used to me hanging about.” 

“She must be worried about you,” Erik pressed. 

Another shrug. “We've emailed. She knows I'm fine.” 

“When did you--” Erik shook his head. “Never mind. It doesn't matter. It seems a little hypocritical of me to leave the door unlocked but withhold the wi-fi password. It's iprefermagneto, by the way, all lowercase.” 

Charles burst out laughing. “Of course it is.” 

“Would you stop? It's not that funny.” 

Charles took a moment to recover himself, still grinning. “I think it's adorable.” 

“Did I mention the door's unlocked?” 

Erik's growing irritation only served to set Charles off again. “Please. What would you do without me?” 

~

Erik didn't leave after breakfast, instead leaning against the kitchen doorway as he swiped away at his phone screen, no doubt reading all of the messages that Emma had left. Eventually, he straightened up and padded down the hall to his room, while Charles leaned over the arm of the couch to plug in the laptop cable. 

He settled back onto the cushion and found three emails waiting for him when he logged in. One from his guidance counsellor, one from Raven, and one from....the University of Oxford. He clicked on the final email, waiting with baited breath as the page loaded. _Congratulations_ , it read. _You have been selected for early acceptance to the University of Oxford_. Charles pressed his knuckles to his mouth to prevent whatever exclamatory sound he might have made from escaping. He scanned the rest of the email – due date for confirmation, mandatory grade requirements, and—fuck. A current mailing address, as their previous correspondence had been returned unread. Charles' shoulders slumped, his expression crumpling. He'd have to tell Erik. After he'd just promised not to go anywhere. 

Well, he thought, reading the list of deadlines, the best part about early admission was that he had more time to send in his reply. Confirmation on his part wasn't due until mid-January, and that was plenty of time to figure out how to broach the subject. He could just barely hear Erik's voice from the next room, muffled and almost unintelligible through the wall. He caught his own name once, as well as Shaw's, but nothing more. Charles ran his hands through his hair, fingertips grazing the nape of his neck. Oxford had always been his dream, and he wasn't about to give it up. But that didn't mean he had to talk to Erik about it just yet. 

The metal bender in question was coming back down the hall now, saying something that was probably directed at Charles, but he wasn't listening as he hastily closed the Oxford email and opened the one from his counsellor. 

“Sorry, I didn't hear you,” Charles said distractedly, skimming the information for his exams. He only had three, thankfully, since he'd already sent in final essays for his other classes. 

“I was just asking if you'd gotten your exam times.” 

Charles nodded. “I have to be online next week, on two different days.” 

“Then you have time to go out now.” Erik nudged Charles' socked foot with his own. “Come on.” 

“I thought you were recovering.” Charles signed out of his account an closed the laptop. He'd read Raven's email later. 

“I'm tired of sitting around.”

“Try doing it for a month,” Charles muttered, but there was no malice behind his retort. “What did Emma have to say?” 

Erik was already at the door, wrapping a long charcoal grey scarf around his throat and handing Charles his navy peacoat. “That if I ever scared her like that again, she'd kill me herself. And that she has no idea where Shaw's headed. Initial evidence suggested South America, but now she's not so sure.” 

“So it's a waiting game.” Charles followed Erik out of the apartment as he buttoned his coat. 

“Exactly,” Erik agreed. 

It was colder than the last time they'd been out together. The early December air was brisk and unforgiving, chafing Charles' exposed skin, and he jammed his hands into his pockets to keep warm. Erik produced a rumpled woollen cap from his own coat and offered it up without looking at him, and Charles accepted it gratefully, tugging it over the tips of his ears as they walked. Charles remained half a step behind Erik, watching the line of identical brownstones eventually transform into independent shop fronts, hardware and convenience stores with small, one room apartments on the floor above. 

“Where are we going?” Charles asked. “Another one of your appointments?” 

“No.” 

“Then where?” he pressed. 

“Anywhere but here.” 

There was a bus stop at the corner of the street, and Erik paused, checking the time on his phone. Charles automatically looked at his wrist. He was still wearing Erik's watch, and it was still 7:15. 

“It should be here in a minute. The bus,” he added, when Charles looked at him blankly. As if on cue, the bus rolled up before them, huffing exhaust while the engine emitted a dull, complacent roar.It was the noise that really put Charles off; He'd gotten used to the quiet of Erik's apartment the controlled volume of his Ipod. 

Erik paid both of their fares as they got on, while Charles averted his eyes from the other passengers. Two were sleeping in seats opposite one another, one was eating a sandwich three seats back and dripping mustard onto his tie, and there was a woman near the back in an oversized parka conversing loudly on her cell phone. None of them so much as glanced at Charles, tugging self-consciously at his collar as Erik ushered him into a seat and slid in next to him. 

“What's wrong?” 

Charles shook his head and turned to face the window, squinting through the grime as the bus pulled away from the sidewalk. “It's just strange being around other people again.” 

“You were around other people in the tunnels.” 

“Humans,” Charles specified. “Ordinary, oblivious people with lives and jobs and families and no clue idea what happens between the cracks.” 

“Do you want what they have?” Erik asked quietly. 

“Not anymore,” Charles admitted. “Not knowing what I do about the Morlocks, about myself, about you...” he trailed off, worried that he'd said too much, but Erik remained unphased. “I don't think I could bear living with the kind of passive ignorance that they depend on to get through their day.” 

A slow smile crept across Erik's expression, but he didn't answer, instead lacing his fingers through Charles' own and resting them in his lap. They rode together in comfortable silence, and it wasn't until the run down coffee shops and nondescript laundromats gave way to quirky small businesses and brunch cafes that Erik reached over Charles' head to pull the cord for the next stop. Charles let go of his hand to descend the bus steps onto the street, and linked them together again when they started walking. The shops in this neighbourhood were built from brick and stone, with no graffiti or litter to be seen, and Charles recognized the names of the streets that they passed. 

A group of boys around Charles' age, dressed in leather jackets and patterned scarves, breezed past them, Starbucks in hand and joking among themselves. Charles hid his face behind Erik's arm as they passed. 

“Alright?” Erik gave him a nudge, and Charles peeked out to ensure the boys were gone before facing forward again. 

“They go to my school.” 

“It's Tuesday morning Shouldn't they be in class?” 

“It's just presentations and exam prep this week. Classes are basically optional at this point in the semester.” 

Erik glanced over his shoulder at the gaggle of teens, now waiting for the stoplight to change. “Reminds me of how much I don't miss high school. No offence.” 

“None taken. Starbucks and Snapchat were never my cup of tea.” 

“No, you prefer Earl Grey.” 

“Yes. Well. No one wants to spend time with a trust fund baby with a 94% average, a book in one hand and a tea in the other.” 

They turned on to a narrow sidestreet and stopped before a storefront with windows far more cluttered than the clean, aesthetically pleasing displays they'd passed along the way. Charles' face lit up when he saw the precarious stacks of paperbacks pushed up against the glass, and Erik gave him a little nudge as he pulled the door open. “Their loss.” 

The brass bell over the door frame tinkled musically as they entered, and the shopkeeper, a lanky, bespectacled man, dark hair streaked with grey at his temples, glanced up from the paperwork strewn across his counter. The smile that spread across his features was one of acquaintance rather than forced customer service, and he greeted Erik warmly in a heavy German accent. 

“It's been awhile, Erik. I was beginning to worry!” he stood and straightened his waistcoat as he spoke. 

Erik's eyes crinkled at the corners when he returned the older man's smile. “Apologies, Elias. I've been a bit preoccupied.” 

Elias quirked an eyebrow and shot a meaningful glance at Charles, who had been running his fingers reverently across the spines of the hardcovers shelved next to the cash. Some he recognized from his own library, but others were first and second editions he'd only ever seen online, in collector's forums and vintage resale websites. 

Elias said something to Erik in German, ad Erik responded in kind, drawing Charles' attention back to the conversation. Elias said something else and Erik stilled, but his tone remained amiable as he replied. 

“I'm regretting my choice to take French instead of German.” Charles dropped his hand from the shelf, rubbing his thumb and index together to disperse the phantom sensation remaining. 

Elias chuckled. “Erik was just telling me what a voracious reader you are.” 

Judging by Erik's reaction, that was only a half truth, but Charles only nodded. “I just finished reading The Last King of Scotland. And the Once and Future King, for the third time.” 

“You and Erik have similar tastes, then.” 

Charles was only partially listening now, distracted by a copy of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead sitting at the top of a stack of books near the window. Most of them were poems and plays, and Charles spotted The Death of a Salesman and a Chekhov collection sandwiched between Emily Dickinson and Ted Hughes as well, their spines cracked and weathered with age. 

“Probably because it's all his books I've been reading,” Charles replied absently, flipping through the pages of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. “I haven't been able to find this anywhere.” He smoothed a yellowed page, tracing the text as if it were an old friend. “My stepbrother stole my copy and used it for rolling papers. I could have killed him.” He moved to return it to the stack of books, But Erik put a hand on his wrist. 

“Hang onto it,” he murmured, and gestured towards the narrow aisles of bookshelves beyond. “Why don't you go and browse. I'll catch up in a minute.” 

At a loss for words, Charles stepped around him and took a deep, indulgent breath as the rows of shelves converged around him, the smell of dust and ink on worn paper calming and familiar. Charles was pleased to find that the fantasy section was alphabetized by author, rather than series, and he found the A's at the very end of the aisle. He was in the mood for something with magic. 

Erik and the shopkeeper were still chatting in German at the front of the store, their voices muffled through the clutter of books separating them from Charles. He eventually tuned them out entirely and cocked his head sideways to read the various book titles, occasionally choosing one with an interesting title or an author he recognized to scan the jacket. He hung onto a copy of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell, figuring he'd finally have time to tackle the tome-like novel over the winter break, and crouched down on the floor to peruse the lower shelves. He bypassed J through M, having read most of Ursula LeGuin's works in middle school and no interest in tackling Robert Jordan's massive body of work, and squinted at the titles at the top of the next set of shelves. He was up on his toes, fingers grazing the newest looking copy of Good Omens, when a longer, black clad arm reached above him and pulled the book forward into his hand. 

Startled, Charles dropped down onto his heels and glanced over his shoulder. It was only Erik, of course, there was no one else in the store except Elias up front. “Thanks. Have you read Good Omens?” 

“I don't really read fantasy.” Erik's voice was low and close to his ear, but Charles was too busy inspecting the paperback for cracks in the spine and nicked pages to notice. 

“You'd like it, I think. It's about an angel and a demon who've been friends since the beginning of life on earth.” He turned to hand the book to Erik and stopped short, abruptly aware of the very few inches of space between them. The soft incandescent glow above them, combined with the precariously narrow rows of shelves, had created a pocket of space as separate from the rest of the world as the fantasy realms of the books surrounding them. 

“Um. So there's this boy, who's basically the Antichrist, that's meant to bring about the end of the world...” He was rambling, trying to form a barrier between them with words, and Erik plucked the book from Charles' hands to read the back cover. 

“Angels and demons?” Erik took the smallest of steps forward as he handed it back. “No witches and wizards and Renaissance fair nonsense? 

“No. Well, there is a witch, but not like that.” Charles fidgeted with the other two paperbacks he was holding, looking anywhere but up at Erik, who was near enough that Charles could reach up and run his fingers along Erik's jawline, it would be so easy to close the remaining space between them-- 

“You read The Once and Future King,” he pointed out, his voice rough and cracking on the last syllables. 

“That's different,” Erik murmured. 

“Different how?” Charles whispered, and his back was against the shelves behind him, how had he gotten there? He didn't think he'd moved his feet.

Erik ignored his question, answering instead with one of his own. “This is one of your favourites?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you think I'll like it?” 

“Yes.” He was watching Erik's mouth, barely listening to what he was saying. 

“We should get it then.” 

“Yes.” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

“Yes.” Charles' eyes widened. “What? I--”

Erik averted his gaze, as though shocked by his own forwardness, but Charles' fingertips were on Erik's face, tracing first his cheekbones and moving down to his jaw, just as he'd imagined only moments ago, and Erik remained still, allowing Charles to decide how to proceed. Before he could second guess himself, Charles leaned up on his toes and pressed a quick, feather light kiss to Erik's lips, chaste and uncertain, as though dipping his toes into a lake to test the waters. 

Charles rocked back on his heels, biting his lower lip, and chanced a glance at Erik's expression. “Yes,” he repeated, and when confusion flashed across Erik's features, Charles added, “you can kiss me.” 

Confusion melted into something else that Charles couldn't quite place, and then Erik was kissing him and he wrapped his arms around Erik's neck to pull Erik flush against him. Erik's hands curved around his waist, caressing the small of his back and Charles hummed contentedly against Erik's mouth, marvelling at the way the hard thin line of his lips yielded for him, chasing the faint taste of blueberries beneath cinnamon toothpaste even as Erik broke the kiss and Charles automatically angled his head towards Erik's for more. Erik obliged, pressing one more kiss to Charles' mouth as softly as Charles had before. 

“We should go,” the words were a quiet exhale against Charles ear and Charles thought his knees might have given way if Erik wasn't holding onto him. 

“Yes,” Charles whispered again, and grinned. “I think I'd agree to anything you asked right now.” 

“We have that in common.” 

“Perhaps I should have picked up some more books then,” Charles joked, and Erik just smiled indulgently. 

“Be my guest.” 

Charles fingered with collar of Erik's coat. “We can go, if you like.” 

“I just want to be with you. I don't care where.” 

Charles tugged him down into another kiss, warm and needing, and Erik responded in kind, teeth grazing Charles' lower lip as they parted again. 

“Choose another one,” Erik murmured. “One you want me to read.” 

“Something with witches and wizards and Renaissance faire nonsense?” 

Erik rolled his eyes, but it was a halfhearted gesture. “If you must.” 

Charles only smirked and extracted himself from Erik's arms, turning to scan the book titles until he found what he was looking for. “Dragons plus politics,” he said, passing His Majesty's Dragon to Erik, who had barely moved from his place behind Charles. He idly stroked the knuckles of Charles' free hand as he took the book, and Charles could feel the buttons of Erik's coat grazing his back as they moved further along the shelves. 

Charles lingered in the “S” section, picking out a hardcover copy of A Gathering of Shadows and reading the inside of the jacket. “Oh, but I missed you.” 

“Who?” 

“Delilah and Kell,” Charles responded, and then realized that these names meant nothing to Erik. “This is the second book. It must have come out earlier this year.” 

“You can read it now. “Where's the first one?” 

Charles pulled A Darker Shade of Magic from the shelf above his head and handed it over his shoulder. “No Renaissance faire, but definitely wizards. Magicians,” he corrected himself. “Blood magic, travelling between Londons that inhabit the same space in different worlds, that sort of thing.” 

“The way you talk about these books, it's as if you lived the stories yourself,” Erik commented, releasing Charles' hand to peruse the first chapter of the book he'd been given. 

“Better their worlds than mine,” Charles replied, and winced, but Erik squeezed Charles' shoulder, gentle and reassuring, reminding Charles that his own narrative was changing with every moment they spent together. 

They continued down the shelves, and when fantasy transitioned into historical fiction, Erik began pointing out a few that he'd read and they traded titles back and forth, comparing what they'd already read and choosing new ones to sit their mutual interests. By the time the pair reached the cash, Charles was clutching a stack of six books and Erik held another four. 

Elias stood from his stool behind the register as they put their books down side by side, and started flipping open covers to ring up the prices pencilled inside. 

“Fantasy, Erik?” he inquired offhandedly. “That's a departure from your usual tastes.” 

Erik shrugged and reached into his coat pocket for his wallet. “I'm broadening my horizons.” 

The store owner shot a mischievous glance at Charles. “Apparently.” 

Charles felt his face grow warm, and he focused his attention on the digital green numbers on the register's display, showing the price of each book as Elias entered them. Erik handed the older man two twenty dollar bills, and when Elias offered him a five and some coins, Erik waved him off. 

“Keep it,” Erik told him. “you're always giving me these ridiculous discounts. You must be losing more than you make.” 

Elias shook his head with a wry smile. “You're the main reason I stay in business.” 

Erik ignored the money and picked up the plastic bag that Elias had filled with their books. “All the more reason to keep it, then.” 

Elias asked him something in German, and Erik's answer was enough for the older man to return the change to the till. 

“Don't wait so long to come by next time,” Elias chastised him amiably. “And bring your book loving friend with you.” 

The bell tinkled again as they left, and Charles blinked several times against the the direct rays of sunlight that hit him on the sidewalk. It was an entirely different world out in the street. Bright and crisp and populated, and Charles found himself studying Erik's features, seeking some kind of proof of what they'd shared between the shelves. Erik caught him staring and his mouth twitched as he twined their fingers together while they walked. 

They turned back onto the main thoroughfare, passing a bakery, a specialty toy shop, and a bank before stopping at an undersized version of a larger franchise pharmacy that seemed out of place among the independent businesses. The teenage girl at the counter didn't look up from the magazine she was reading as they walked in, electric blue fingernails drumming absently against the worn surface as she leaned against its edge. Erik ignored her and went straight to the aisle labelled “headache-cough and cold-pain relievers”, examining the various coloured labels while Charles lingered nearby. 

“Do you have any allergies?” 

Charles' eyes flicked to the right, considering. “I don't think so. Why?” 

Erik held up a bottle of extra strength migraine relief medication. “If we're removing that chip, you'll want these.”

Charles' insides went cold “Right. Of course.” How things had changed since that first night, when Erik had threatened to extract the inhibitor right then and there. Charles remembered with perfect clarity the way it pulsed under his skin when Erik latched onto it with his power, the tiniest of tugs causing the entire network of microscopic wires to tremble in response. Charles shivered now, involuntarily, at the memory, so at odds with this present version of Erik that had asked permission to kiss him and now wanted to make sure he wasn't allergic to codeine. 

Erik set the container back on the shelf and took Charles' hand again, thumb stroking Charles' knuckles. “It's all right if you changed your mind, if you're not ready.” 

Charles shook his head. “No, I haven't changed my mind. This is just a bit surreal, that's all.” 

“Is this because of what happened between us earlier? Because if you don't want--” 

“No!” Charles interrupted, louder than intended, and he bit his lip, abruptly self-conscious. “That was perfect. You've done nothing wrong. It's me that's wrong, not you.” He pulled away and rubbed anxiously at the back of his neck. He had to stop rambling, this wasn't working. 

Erik let him be, watching helplessly while Charles tried to sort through his emotions. “I don't know how we got here.” 

“Exactly!” Charles exhaled, the weight in his chest gradually lifting. “I just can't wrap my mind around how I feel right now. I feel---I feel--” there was a word for this, what was it? 

“Confused?” 

“Content,” Charles finished, brow furrowing as Erik stifled a laugh. “What's so funny?” 

“Is that all? God, Charles, you had me worried for a minute.” 

“What do you mean, 'is that all'? I'm having a minor panic attack and that's all you have to say?” 

“Look, this is new for me, too. You know I haven't been with anyone since...well. But if your biggest concern right now is the foreboding sense of impending happiness, then I think we might just be okay.” 

He was right, of course. Charles wasn't used to any of this. All of it was new, and made even stranger by the circumstances of their relationship. What was he supposed to say when people asked how they met? Oh yes, this is Erik. He kidnapped me and held me hostage and then I might have fallen a little bit in love with him. But that was after he offered me my freedom, so it's not really Stockholm Syndrome, right? 

“Charles?” 

He froze, unwilling to turn around, hoping against hope that that name was meant for anyone but him, even though he knew that voice too well, and the girl to which it belonged. 

“Charles, it is you!” She was at his side now, cheeks flushed from the cold, auburn hair falling neatly to her shoulders under a black knitted winter hat. 

“Hello, Moira,” he managed, feeling suddenly ill. The ground seemed to rock beneath his feet, and he couldn't do this right now, couldn't have her taking up the same space and time as Erik, who was warily watching the exchange only a few feet away. 

“Where have you been? No one's seen you in weeks!” Moira took a step back to scrutinize him from head to toe as she spoke. “You look good, anyway. Your sister said you're finishing the year by correspondence.” 

He wanted to sit down. He wanted to run. He needed to breathe, just breathe, and then Erik was snaking a proprietary arm around Charles' waist, and the room stopped spinning and the ground solidified, and Charles leaned against him almost unconsciously. 

Moira's eyes narrowed, but her smile didn't waver. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend, Charles?” 

No. “Um, This is Erik. Erik, this is Moira. My--” 

“Girlfriend,” she cut in smoothly, offering her hand. Erik's mouth hardened into a thin line, and she took the hint and retracted the gesture. 

“Ex-girlfriend,” Charles corrected. “We broke up this past summer.” 

Moira pouted, actually pouted, and that was when Charles understood exactly what kind of game she was playing. "But we're still going to prom together, right? We promised each other back in freshman year.” 

Erik's arm tightened as Charles shook his head. “I'm not going to prom.” 

“You can still go, even if you're taking your courses from home.” 

“I'm sorry, Moira,” Charles shoved as much finality into the words as he could muster. “I'm with Erik.” 

“Oh.” Then, “ _Oh_.” 

Charles glanced up at Erik, who was wearing a satisfied smirk. “It was nice to see you, Moira.” 

She stared dumbly at them both as they strolled back towards the front of the store, hand in hand, and Charles felt as though he couldn't breathe properly until Erik paid for his purchase and they were back out onto the street, every step putting more distance between him and Moira. 

“She's going to tell everyone at school about this.” The reality of what he'd done was sinking in as he replayed the conversation in his mind. _I'm with Erik_ , he'd said. What was he thinking? 

“So let her.” 

“I was actually considering going back to school next semester,” Charles continued, as though Erik hadn't spoken. “But now I can't show my face there without people staring and whispering behind my back.” 

“It's high school,” Erik squeezed his hand in reassurance. “I'm sure there will be some new gossip or drama by January.” 

Charles sighed heavily. “Can we just go home? I don't think I can handle anymore chance encounters today.” 

~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating two fics in the same day because I've had nothing but time to write this week xD Chapter 7 is almost done, and I've got the next couple planned out, which is weird because I haven't planned any of this fic so far. With Good Intentions, on the other hand, is nothing BUT planning. Anyway, enough from me - you guys are the best with your comments, thank you for the continued feedback!

Charles had been quiet on the bus ride home, still shaken by the girl at the pharmacy, and when they returned to the apartment he refused to meet Erik's eyes as he removed his coat and hung it in the hall closet. Erik followed suit, leaving their books on the coffee table for Charles to unpack before stashing the pain medication he'd purchased in the bathroom cupboard next to his first aid kit. Tomorrow, he told himself. He'd remove the chip tomorrow. 

Charles was already curled at the end of the couch, his back against the armrest as he opened the hardcover he'd chosen and flipped forward to the first chapter. Erik could make out the silhouette of a pirate in a black coat, surrounded by clawing red hands, over Charles' kneecaps, and he sifted through the rest of the books until he found one with a matching cover art style. This one featured a man, or a boy, perhaps, leaping gracefully from one city map to another, red coattails trailing behind him. 

“That's the first one,” Charles offered, glancing up from the pages of his own book. “You'd like the main character, I think. He's got more of a permanent scowl than you do.” 

Erik frowned, about to disagree, but from Charles' raised eyebrows he knew he'd just proven Charles' point. He attempted to rearrange his features into something more neutral, feeling self-conscious, but Charles just smiled and tugged on the sleeve of Erik's turtleneck. “Sit.” 

Erik obeyed, crossing one leg over the other and resting his arm on the back of the couch as he began to read. 

Charles hadn't been kidding about Kell's permanent scowl, and Erik was instantly intrigued by the idea of multiple Londons, fixed points between worlds and the disparities between those with magic and those without. It was almost like a form of karmic segregation, and he wondered idly if there were more cities that occupied the same space in different worlds, or just London. Erik was so engrossed in the novel that he jumped when he felt something brush his arm, and Charles was flinching away from him, drawing back to his original seat. 

“Sorry,” Erik apologized. “Kell was just waking up tied to Delilah's bed.” 

Charles hesitated for a brief moment, but slid across the cushion and tucked himself under Erik's arm. “It is quite the first meeting.” 

“And Kell's eye, the blood magic. He's an outsider wherever he goes, even among his own people. It's almost like...” 

“A mutation,” Charles finished the thought for him. 

Erik nodded. “I'd be curious to learn if the Antari are a dying species or an emerging one. And if there is more to this Delilah Bard character than a mere thief. This better not be one of those books where it's the person's humanity that makes them special. I hate that. Show me that you have something more to offer, because being ordinary doesn't make you special. It literally means the exact opposite.” He paused mid-rant, acutely aware of Charles' eyes on him, Charles' book lying forgotten on the table. 

Erik let his arm fall from the back of the couch and carded his fingers through Charles' hair, smoothing the flyaways without thinking, while Charles took the book from Erik's lap and used his fingertips to push it on top of his own.

“You don't have to ask every time, you know.” Charles tilted his head into Erik's touch as the pad of his thumb grazed Charles' temple. 

“I want this to be your choice.” 

Charles laid his palm flat against Erik's chest, directly over his heart, and kissed him in a single decisive movement, and then he was drawing back again, swift and smooth, as though he'd never moved at all. 

“You've made that bit abundantly clear.” Charles' voice held a note of playful impatience, and Erik couldn't help but smile. 

“Can you blame me for—mm.” Charles' lips were on his again, cupping Erik's face in his hands as he brought himself up on his knees and nothing else mattered except the warmth of Charles' body against his, and the sweet determination of his kiss, any lingering hesitation melting away. Erik's hands slid beneath Charles' cardigan, and never had he been so glad that Charles chose to wear a thin lilac t-shirt rather than his usual multiple layers and buttons as he traced the curve of Charles' ribs, the arch of his spine, and then Charles was pulling back, dipping his head forward to press their foreheads together, and Erik found himself wondering what this would be like if Charles could be in his mind right now. 

“It took weeks for you to open up to me,” Charles told him softly. “And now you won't shut up unless I make you.” 

“You say that like it's a bad thing.” Erik swiveled his hips to face Charles properly and pressed his lips just below Charles' jaw, once, twice, and then their mouths slanted together again as Erik lowered Charles back onto the couch, one knee braced between Charles' thighs on the cushion. Charles stilled beneath him for a split second, just long enough for Erik to worry that they were moving too quickly, but the moment passed and Charles was hooking his fingers into Erik's belt loops and pulling Erik down onto him. 

Erik's teeth grazed Charles' throat and he nuzzled against that same spot just above Charles' collarbone, breathing in the scent of Erik's own Irish Spring body wash, clean mint clinging to Charles' skin and mingling with the dust and aged paper of secondhand books. This was all he needed, all he'd wanted for longer than he cared to admit, for there to be no more space between, to feel Charles' pulse fluttering beneath his lips as he trailed kisses up Charles' neck. 

The sound that escaped Charles' throat was one of distress, not pleasure, straining against his vocal chords like he was trying to force it back down. Erik's head snapped up to meet panic-stricken eyes even as Charles' hands changed direction, no longer wandering and wanting but trying to push against Erik's chest. Erik was off of him in an instant, stumbling back a step and swearing colourfully when the back of his ankle hit the leg of the table behind him. Charles sat up and climbed to his feet as well, an apology already forming on his lips, but Erik managed to blurt the words out first. 

“I'm sorry.” 

Charles stared at him as if he'd been slapped. 

“I didn't mean to upset you.” He ran his fingers through his hair, over his eyes, breathing deep. He should have known better than to believe this could work. 

“Erik.” 

“If this is too much, too fast for you, you only need to say the word, whatever you need.” 

“Erik.” Charles' fingers were circling Erik's wrists, bringing his hands down between them. “You didn't do anything wrong I just...I panicked, again. Still, possibly. Not because of you,” he added, before Erik could protest. He let go of Erik's wrists and wrapped his arms around himself. “I thought I could do this, because it's you and not him.” 

Charles was looking away now, refusing to make eye contact, and Erik's heart dropped like a stone as Erik remembered the nightmares, the bruises, the offhanded mentions of Charles' stepfather. Erik's vision swam, rage simmering beneath his skin and replacing rational thought. 

“If that monster touched you like that, violated--”

“He didn't,” Charles interrupted. “Not like you're thinking, anyway.” 

Erik forced himself to breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth, and listen, while Charles continued, haltingly, in his attempt to explain. 

“You know I have nightmares. About how Kurt would come to me in my bedroom and...and hurt me.” Charles rubbed at the back of his neck, at the chip that Erik had yet to remove. “And I know that you're different, and that you never would. But when you were on top of me like that, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think and I tried to remind myself that it's okay because it's you but I couldn't--” He broke off, choking on the last syllables, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. Erik resisted the urge to reach out and brush it away. 

“I'm sorry,” Charles said finally, wiping the tear track away himself with the flat of his hand. “This isn't what I wanted.” 

Erik spoke carefully, fighting to keep his voice level. “And what do you want?” 

Charles exhaled, his voice worn and ragged. “You.” 

Erik's shoulders sagged, relief sweeping over him, and held out his arms. Charles sank into the embrace, his face buried against Erik's shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around his midsection. Erik held onto him just as fiercely, resting his cheek on Charles' hair, murmuring words of nonsense and comfort in the hope that for now, it could be enough. 

~ 

“You're sure you don't want the anesthetic?” 

They were seated on Erik's bed, Charles on the edge with his feet planted on the hardwood floor, while Erik sat cross-legged behind him. Charles' back straightened and he shook his head, his answer the same as it had been earlier that morning. 

“It didn't work the first time around.” 

“This won't be the same,” Erik replied softly, fingertips grazing the back of his neck. 

Charles closed his eyes, willing away the images that surfaced of faceless surgeons, the tiled floor beneath the operating table, the sounds of squeaking metal wheels and the smell of latex gloves close to his face. This is not the same. 

“I want to try something.” Erik's voice pulled him back to the present, and he blinked, refocusing on the bookshelf across the room. From here, he could read the titles of most of the spines, and make out the outline of Erik's watch curled at the very top, where Charles had carefully returned it last night. 

“I've only done it once,” Erik told him. “But I think it'll help.” 

“Alright.” 

Charles could hear the surprise in Erik's response. “I haven't told you what it is.” 

He offered a tiny shrug. “I trust you.” 

Erik tensed behind him, but raised his hands to the sides of Charles' head. “This might feel a little strange. Just...don't move.” 

Charles remained absolutely still, hands folded into his lap, and then he heard, no, felt, a low hum beginning just below his ears and spreading uniformly within his skull, smooth and steady. The vibration set his teeth on edge and he clenched them together involuntarily as it continued its path down the nape of his neck, Erik's hands now lingering just above his shoulders. 

“Almost done,” Erik said under his breath. A bright, pulsing light materialized in Charles' periphery, pulsing and tinged with green, but he didn't dare turn his head to look. Instead he slid his gaze as far to the right as he could, trying to make out whatever was taking form beside him. 

“Go ahead and look. Slowly, now. I don't know how long I can hold it.” 

Charles obeyed, turning his head incrementally, as though afraid to startle it, and gasped aloud. “Is that...is that mine?” 

A three-dimensional light projection hovered before him at eye level, its hemispheres and lobes outlined in striking detail. The entire display was emitting an unearthly green glow, tracing neural pathways and highlighting little flares of brain activity as Charles' eyes widened in wonder. 

Erik only nodded, brow furrowed in concentration. “This was Callisto's idea, the first time. She called me a living MRI, and she was right.” 

Charles was barely listening, his attention drawn to the fine metallic filaments weaving their way into his frontal and parietal lobes, glinting silver within shades of lime and celery green. He traced their routes as they threaded through his brain and sloped downwards, ending abruptly where the image cut off. 

“They lead back to the inhibitor, don't they?” Charles pointed at a junction of almost microscopic wires. 

Another nod. “It was created to target the source of your telepathy, but it could be dampening other related functions as well. Memory, perception, and who knows what else.” 

“I can't believe this has been inside me for seven years and I had no idea how toxic it was." Charles glanced at Erik, who was focused on maintaining the projection. “Or that you literally created an MRI scan out of thin air. It's incredible.” 

The image began to fade out, first the tangle of metallic filaments, and then the bright green outline of Charles' brain and the infinite lights and neural pathways within. Erik dropped his hands to his thighs, a hint of pride lightening his expression. 

“I can't hold it for long. Just enough to get an idea of what's going on in there.” He tapped a finger to Charles' right temple. 

Charles shifted to face him eagerly, one knee up on the mattress. “But the fact that you can even do that, that you can access magnetic fields and radio waves in tandem, and at the right flux density – that must have been what, 3 Tesla? It had to be, or the metal wouldn't have shown up properly, although I suppose it's easier for you to manage metallic interference than a machine. And integrating the visible light spectrum to create a three dimensional image--the applications are endless!” 

He paused to take a breath, and noticed that Erik was looking at him oddly. “What?” 

“Forget what I said about the chip dampening your mind,” Erik responded, the corners of his mouth curving upwards. “I don't think anything could dim your brilliance.” 

Charles felt his cheeks warm and he turned back around, hoping Erik hadn't noticed. “I feel like you've barely skimmed the surface of what you can do,” he continued, as if Erik hadn't spoken. “Bending forks, tracking watches, the grand, powerful gestures you make in the name of mutantkind...it's all just parlour tricks compared to this.” 

“People listen to brute force,” Erik protested, bringing his thumbs to rest at the base of Charles' neck. His index fingers followed its curve, their tips resting along the line of Charles' jaw. “I've never needed any more than that.” Erik's voice was tight, actively repressing any stray emotions, and Charles wished that they were having this conversation anywhere but here. “Are you ready?” 

“Yes.” 

A pause, a suspended moment in time as though Erik wanted to speak, and then a strangled sound escaped Charles' lips as something sharp sliced into his brain. 

Erik's fingers tensed against his skin. “Okay?” 

Charles fought the urge to nod and squeezed his eyes shut. “Keep going.” 

“You can tell me if you're in pain.” 

“It's not...it doesn't hurt,” he managed. “It's more like...a bow, over violin strings.” 

Erik seemed to understand, because the friction increased again and his power threaded through the metal filaments, plucking delicately at each individual wire and following their paths in reverse like a measuring tape retracting with a hard snap. One by one they retreated, and in their absence Charles could see the tiny lights of his nightmares behind his eyelids, blinking into existence like stars in the night sky. He could pick out Erik's thoughts now, muted and distant against the lingering effects of the inhibitor and the filaments that were still left to remove. In the faraway rhythm of Erik's mind, Charles could hear him counting them down. 

_5_

_4_

_3_

_2_

_1_

Charles' mind uncurled, a cat waking from its slumber, stretching languidly and batting at the chip like a ball of string. 

“Charles.” 

He could hear everything, almost, a clutter of faint voices above, below, around him from the surrounding apartments. All those people, going about their mundane little lives, but oh the chip was still working, emitting a tiny signal that tethered him to the spot and kept him from actually reading their thoughts, maybe if he just--

“Charles.”

Blink. Focus. _Erik?_

“Charles, listen to me. You have to stop agitating the inhibitor.” 

_It's in the way._

“I am aware.” Irritation in his words, and in his mind. “Stop poking at it and let me finish taking it out.” 

Charles settled back, waited, and felt Erik's irritation melt into satisfaction. “That's better.” 

The sharpened blade of a knife, a miniature scalpel from Erik's first aid kit against his flesh, and the chip was sliding out, slick with blood and dropping harmlessly onto a strip of paper towel waiting on the mattress. 

Free. He was free and he could feel everyone, nine floors worth of thoughts and emotions intermingling and overtaking his own, from the elderly woman next door watching Downton Abbey and making idle conversation in an online knitting forum, to the eighteen year old runaway two floors up, beautifully intricate wings unfolding from her back and lifting her up to change the lightbulb in her kitchen. 

Charles' fingers twitched in his lap. There would be time to explore later, but for now he had to sort through the voices in his head, including the rising panic colouring Erik's own intruding thoughts. 

“Come on, Charles,” Erik pleaded as he smoothed a square of gauze over the incision in Charles' neck. “Come back to me. Say something so that I know you're not a vegetable.” 

_I might, if you let me get a word in._

Erik huffed out a breath and squeezed Charles' shoulder affectionately. “How do you feel?” 

Charles glanced behind him, his gaze bright, but unfocused. “Better. Whole.” 

Erik frowned in response. “Are you sure? You seem a little off.” 

Charles picked up the chip between thumb and forefinger, brushing the paper towel to the side so that he could shift fully onto the bed next to Erik. It was so small, smaller than the nail of his pinky.

“How could something so tiny contain the vastness of this?” He was talking to himself, Erik's mind churning while he examined the chip. His concern enveloped Charles completely, and Charles didn't bother trying to filter out the trepidation that Erik was clearly attempting to rein in has he regarded Charles. 

“I'm fine, Erik,” he said, at a normal volume this time. “Everything's a bit loud at the moment, that's all. I'm having trouble blocking it all out.” 

A lie. He hadn't even tried yet, nor did he really want to. All of these sensations were so new and yet so familiar, and he loved the way all of these minds existed around and within him, comforting him with their proximity and their mundanities. More than anything, he loved the way Erik's emotions seeped into his own, nearly unable to tell where his ended and Erik's began, and letting him see beyond the fixed stoicism that Erik was so quick to hide behind. And then Charles realized something vital. 

“You let me in.” The chip fell, forgotten, from his fingers and Erik caught it with a tendril of his power, calling the chip to him and letting it hover just above his open palm. 

“I didn't have a chance to say no. You slipped through my shields like they were nothing.” Charles stared at him, horrified, but Erik only shook his head, letting the chip weave over and under his fingers, and then it was rotating above his palm again. “If I was worried about that, I would have worn my helmet, but I thought you might something to help you focus when your telepathy returned.” 

“An anchor.” To prevent him from drifting away, from being swallowed by the cacophony of voices that still chattered away in his mind. The girl upstairs with the wings was now singing along too a song on the radio, dancing around her living room like no one was watching--

Charles pulled away, embarrassed, and turned his attention to the foundations of his mind. He pressed inwards, like fingers sliding into fresh soil, and found what he was looking for. The remnants of his old telepathic barriers, diminished but not destroyed, and, with some effort, raised back up to mute the minds that filled his own with feelings and thoughts that didn't belong to him. 

He could still hear them, of course, a susurrus of sounds that calmed and connected him to everyone else in the immediate vicinity, and at the centre, one single voice that Charles hadn't blocked and now called to him like a beacon. He brushed against Erik' shields in silent question, the gesture too little, to late, he knew. But Erik let him in all the same, giving him the freedom to settle in and explore. Charles wasn't surprised when a few doors remained locked, and he left them alone in favour of memories that were more readily accessible. There were so many of himself here – Charles, strapped to a chair, slumped ad defeated. Then, later, flinching away from Erik at every turn, only very recently taking one step closer rather than two steps back. Erik had spent so long wishing he knew what to do, how to act, the right words to say so that Charles might learn not to be afraid the way that Erik was with...there. Sebastian Shaw. 

Shaw, who had tortured Erik and torn him apart over and over again to cultivate his mutation and hone him into the perfect weapon. Charles felt Erik's mind darken with rage and trepidation as broken, split second memories assaulted them both. Ceramic scalpels. Forceps and drills and telepathic attacks, and lines of stitches over blossoming purple bruises. 

Distantly, Charles was aware that Erik had curled into himself, knees pulled tight against his chest in a position of self defence that Charles was all too familiar with. 

_Stop._ The images dissolved into the darkness, and there was Erik at its centre, shadows trailing listlessly around and through his legs. 

_Now you see me. And now you know what I really am. I'm Frankenstein's monster, and I'm looking for my creator._

_No._ Charles was off like a shot, digging deeper into Erik's psyche until he found what he was looking for and dragged it to the surface. It flickered, faint but determined, shadows threatening to consume the memory even as Charles latched onto it and yanked it forward. Erik startled and refocused, his limbs relaxing ever so slightly as the memory took hold. 

“Mama,” Erik whispered, as she draped the burgundy knitted blanket over his shoulders and passed him the lit candle, so that he might light the rest of the menorah He remembered the way the flames danced inn her eyes, the chapped press of her lips at his temple as he returned the candle to its rightful place, the weight of his father's hand on his shoulder. He leaned into her, breathing in the scent of warm potato latkes, fresh from the oven, and that floral drug store perfume she always wore. If he turned just so, he could almost catch the outline of his father's face, the square, bearded jaw with tufts of grey already beginning to show, but the memory was fading, and he was losing them, he couldn't lose them again--

 _It's alright._ Charles took young Erik's hand, leading his ten year old self to a doorway that hadn't existed before. You can always find them right here. 

Charles squeezed the boy's hand and let go, wiping a stray tear from his eye as he returned to himself, and noticed that Erik was doing the same. 

“I didn't know I still had that,” Erik said hoarsely. 

“There's so much more to you than rage and pain.” Charles took a deep, shuddering breath. “There's good in you too, I've felt it.” 

Erik stared at him for a long moment, and Charles contented himself with watching the words form and fall apart in Erik's thoughts, none of them enough to express the way Erik was feeling. 

“Charles--” he managed, before cutting off abruptly. His entire body crumpled, exhausted, and he didn't protest when Charles tugged at his elbow to pull him close. They lay on their sides on the bed, almost nose to nose, Erik's arm draped over Charles' waist. 

“It's a lot, I know.” Charles hooked his ankle over Erik's calf, closing what was left of the space between them. “For both of us.” 

“I can't imagine what it's like inside your head.” Erik sighed. “So many minds out there, so many possibilities.” 

“The only mind that concerns me is yours.” 

“Then you're not leaving?” 

Charles tensed at the question, his thoughts returning to the email from Oxford. “Why would you think that?” 

“You have your powers back.” 

“So?” Charles reached up to stroke his fingers through Erik's hair. “How many times must I tell you, Erik? I made my choice. You're stuck with me whether you like it or not.” He sent a wave of comfort cresting into Erik's mind, gently smoothing any lingering doubts. He'd wait until after exams to tell Erik about the email, and to make his decision about returning to class. He would cling to this illusion of isolation just a little bit longer, because they both deserved a few days of peace, didn't they? Even as Charles tried to convince himself that he was doing the right thing, Erik's words echoed within his mind. 

_Peace was never an option._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so fun fact - Erik actually acted as a living MRI in Excalibur, in which he and Charles act like an old married couple (when do they not?) and adventure in Genosha with Callisto in tow (who now has tentacle arms because of reasons). Also, all of that scientific rambling from Charles was fully researched and is, as far as I can tell, fairly accurate, in case you were wondering xD


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm writing chapters 8 and 9 simultaneously right now because why not...? I'm hoping to have both done within the next couple of weeks before I start my new job in October and my free time goes down the drain. AS always, your comments give me life, thank you guys for being so awesome and patient while I meander my way through this fic xD

The first couple of days were the worst. The bulk of Charles' time was spent sitting crosslegged across from Erik on the bed, attempting to translate Erik's mental shields into a means of fortifying his own. The ones he'd erected before had no staying power, a house of straw when what Charles really needed was brick. Copying Erik's shields had seemed to simple at firsts, like turning a shirt inside out before throwing it in the wash, but something in Charles' mind resisted. Every time it seemed he was making progress, the framework would start to degrade, leaving Charles with nothing but a few basic building blocks and massive headache. At that point, Erik would hand him the bottle of painkillers, press a kiss to his temple, and leave Charles to rest until he was ready to try again. 

Charles didn't sleep at night, either. Not because of the migraines, which were manageable after a dose or three of Tylenol, but because the dreams he saw when he closed his eyes didn't belong to him. When Erik woke in the early hours of the second morning and padded, bleary eyed and yawning, into the living room, he found Charles sitting on the the couch with his knees pulled up to his chest. His gaze was glassy and unfocused, but his grip was firm around the mug of lukewarm tea in his hands. 

“Did you sleep?” Erik asked, though he already knew the answer. 

Charles shook his head, his eyes trained on the muted television screen. “Do you know they never even reported me missing?” 

Erik crossed the room, sidestepping the coffee table to sit down next to him. 

“Raven said that Kurt phoned the school and told them I had some kind of mysterious illness, and I would be privately tutored for the remainder of the school year.” Charles' quiet laugh was hollow to Erik's ears. “I wish I could have seen his face when they told him I've been submitting my assignments all semester.” 

“Charles,” Erik said carefully, “You need to get some sleep.” 

Charles whipped his head around to look Erik in the eye. “I can't sleep with everyone else's dreams in my head.” He sighed and returned his attention to the television, which was now playing a generic morning talk show. “It's too loud.” 

Erik remained where he was for a long moment, watching Charles watch TV. “Okay,” he said finally, rising to his feet. “Okay.” 

Charles latched onto Erik's mind almost unconsciously as Erik left, following him into the bedroom and watching through Erik's eyes as he picked up hi phone and hit the only number on speed dial. 

“I need a favour,” he said as the other line picked up. 

“Good morning to you, too.” The voice on the other end was female, and one that Charles immediately recognized. 

“I'm serious, Emma,” Erik pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again. 

“So am I,” she retorted, her tone clipped and precise. “Honestly, Erik, you really need to work on your--” 

“I removed Charles' inhibitor,” Erik interrupted. “I thought we could handle it, but...I'm not a telepath. He needs help.” 

Silence, on the other end of the line. Then, “Of course he does. I'll be over shortly.” 

“You're coming here?” 

“You don't expect to be able to bring him downtown to me, do you?” Emma replied. “Not with all of those active minds on the morning commute.” 

Charles caught a flash of himself in Erik's mind, curled up on the couch with dark, sleepless circles under his eyes, and drew back hastily, bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor. By the time Erik came back to check on him Charles was in the kitchen, filling the kettle for a fresh cup of tea. 

“Emma's on her way,” Erik told him. 

“I know, Charles answered, and winced. “Um. I'm going to shower.” 

He could feel Erik's eyes on him as he retreated down the hall, but Charles ignored it, using the chattering minds of the surrounding tenants to drown the worry and concern that radiated from Erik and followed his every move. Idly, he wondered if Erik had had this much trouble controlling his own powers. And then, remembering exactly who was responsible for refining Erik's mutation, Charles froze, his hand halfway to the faucet. 

_Pathetic_. Erik had survived over a year of pain and torture at the hands of a madman, and Charles was falling apart over a migraine. He had to be better than this, for Erik, and for himself. 

~

Emma arrived shortly after Charles had dressed and returned to his perch on the couch, flipping through a textbook without reading its contents. Erik barely had a chance to fully open the door before Emma swept in, unbuttoning her pristine, white fur lined coat and dropping it into Erik's arms with barely a nodded hello. Her eyes found Charles' instantly and she smiled, thin lipped but with a hint of warmth that Erik had rarely seen in her before. 

“Oh, I can see why you like him,” she murmured. “He's exactly your type.” 

Erik tossed her coat over the back of the couch and crossed his arms. “And what is that supposed to mean?” 

“Don't act so sensitive, darling.” Emma brushed past him, her heels clicking against the floor as she approached Charles, who had closed the textbook and was watching her with interest. 

“Hello, Charles. I'm Emma Frost. But,” she added with a wry smile, “you already knew that.” 

Charles accepted her perfectly manicured hand and made a feeble attempt to return her smile. “I've never met someone whose appearance perfectly matches their phone voice.” 

“Is that a compliment?” 

“If you like.” 

Emma smirked. “Oh, I like you. Shall we begin?” 

Charles glanced over her shoulder at Erik, who was watching them intently, and Emma tightened her grip on his hand. “This was his idea, sugar. You're in good hands.” 

“He said you were dangerous.” 

“Did he?” Emma smile widened, revealing, even, pearlescent teeth. “I would be inclined to agree. However,” she leaned in conspiratorially, “so are you.” 

Charles hesitated for a split second, but stood and followed her down the hallway. Erik was still watching them, silent and wary. 

“Is this your room?” Emma asked, nodding at the door next to Erik's. 

“Not anymore,” Charles answered, and blushed. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of, sugar. It's all very Beauty and the Beast, if you ask me.” Emma opened the door and held it open for Charles, but when Erik moved to follow, she held up a hand. “I can't work with you breathing down my neck.” 

Erik scowled. “I don't want you alone with him.” 

“Why not let him decide for himself?” Emma turned to Charles, who only shrugged. 

“You said she could help me, Erik,” he said simply. “So let her.” 

“You heard him.” Emma shooed Erik away as she closed the door. “Go find something to amuse yourself.” 

God, she was annoying, Erik thought, trudging back to the living room. He still didn't trust her with Charles, but it wasn't as if he'd had a choice. Charles needed another telepath to help him navigate his psyche, so maybe, just this once, Erik could put aside his own feelings and trust her. They had history, to be sure, Erik conceded to himself as he folded Charles' favourite blanket and draped it over the back of the couch next to Emma's coat. She'd helped him escape Shaw, set him up with this apartment, and been instrumental in bringing him ever closer to his revenge. Still, he'd never been able to fully trust her, or anyone for that matter. That is, until Charles. 

Erik sighed and picked up the copy of A Darker Shade of Magic from where it lay on the coffee table and sat down on the couch to read. His eyes kept wandering from the page to the hallway, though, and with every minute that passed, his anxiety only increased. At the thirty minute mark, Erik was on his feet and pacing, pausing occasionally outside the bedroom door to listen for sounds of distress. When there were none, he went to the kitchen and put away the dishes from last night's dinner, taking extra care to be far more meticulous than the task required. At forty five minutes, he began investigating the cabinets and refrigerator, checking the expiry dates on sauces and spices he rarely used. By the hour mark, he was back on the hour, browsing Charles' textbook and pretending not to check the time on the VCR, the one Charles had made fun of in his first week here, every thirty seconds. 

Time passed differently in the mind, and Erik understood from experience that an hour in real time could equal an entire day for Charles and Emma. This worried Erik more than anything else, his imagination running wild as he imagined what Emma could manage in that time. And yet, Erik reminded himself, Charles had already exhibited a level of power that even Emma might not be able to match. The inhibitor was barely out before Charles was in Erik's mind, and everyone else's in the building, for that matter. He'd picked out thoughts and memories like a kid in a candy, store, and Erik had nearly regretted not wearing his helmet. He couldn't even begin to fathom what Charles might accomplish with a little study and practice.

Erik sighed heavily once again. This was not helping. He returned what little focus he had to the textbook in his lap, resigning himself to the only thing he could – waiting. 

~

“You really should just tell him.” 

They were sitting across from each other in matching leather armchairs, the fireplace in the adjacent wall crackling between them. This had always been one of Charles' favourite rooms in his family's massive estate, small and warm and tucked away from the rest of the household. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. 

“There's no way he'll let me give this address as mine. He doesn't even have his name on the buzzer downstairs.” Charles shook his head. “And if I go home...well.” 

Emma's hair glowed molten gold in the firelight as she tossed it over her shoulder. “Please. You're only using that as an excuse. You can easily have your mail forwarded to a post office box.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Why don't you tell me what's really bothering you.” 

Charles bit his lower lip. It was a little easier, sorting through his emotions without them tangled up in Erik's or those of his neighbours. Emma had cleaned up Charles' mind and helped him institute some barriers and an efficient organizational system, as well as teaching him some simple exercises to maintain control. They'd spent the last little while conversing, mostly about Erik, and Charles had welcomed the chance to voice what he couldn't with Erik. 

“He's just so...singleminded,” Charles told her finally. “He's always on about crusading for mutant rights, and sometimes I wonder if what he really wants is mutant superiority.” 

Emma nodded. “That's exactly what he wants. He doesn't think mutants and humans can coexist without driving each other to extinction.” 

“And he wants me to join him. Not consciously, of course,” Charles added. “But the sentiment is there. Especially now that he's discovered how powerful I am.” 

“And you think he'll be angry that you want to go to school instead.” 

“I just...I care about his cause, I really do. But I'm not him. I don't want to grandstand on television, making speeches and thinly veiled threats, destroying public monuments and...and taking hostages.” 

Emma smiled faintly. “And what do you want?” 

“I want to give our kind something better.” 

“And what's that?” 

Charles swallowed and leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs at the knee. “A chance. A chance to hope, to dream, to live without fear. I want mutants to have better opportunities than subway tunnels and inhibitors.” 

Emma's eyes narrowed, her expression unreadable. “Who would have thought that Erik could actually inspire change? Though I doubt this is what he had in mind.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Emma flashed him another enigmatic smile. “You,” she said, “are exactly what this world needs. Don't be afraid to follow your dreams, Charles.” The room began to fall away around them, fading into familiar, bland bedroom walls. “Tell him about Oxford.” 

Charles blinked twice as the room fell back into sharp relief, and stretched, cracking his neck in the process. A glance at the alarm clock on the side table told him that almost two hours had passed. 

Emma was already on her feet, smoothing the bedspread where she'd been sitting before crossing the room to put a hand on the doorknob. 

“Come along, then.” She inclined her head as she spoke. “I guarantee Erik is climbing the walls right now thinking about all the terrible things I could be doing to you.” 

Charles stood and followed her to the door. “You saved his life. More than once. Why doesn't he trust you?” 

“Oh, sugar,” She replied, a hint of pity in her voice, “Erik doesn't trust anyone.” 

~

Erik was off the couch and approaching Charles before Charles even made it down the hall, the unspoken question clear in his eyes. 

“You can relax, Erik,” Charles said, not bothering to keep the exasperation from his tone. “Emma did not, in fact, turn me into her unwilling puppet.” 

“He's right,” Emma put in. “He was entirely willing.” 

At Erik's humourless expression, Charles looped his arm through Erik's leaning in to brush a quick kiss against his mouth. “Honestly, I'm fine. Everything is in perfect working order. I promise.” 

Emma rolled her eyes as Erik snaked his free hand around Charles' waist to pull him closer. “Now look what you've done, Charles. You've ruined a perfectly good psychopath. Look at him, he's got feelings.”

The pair broke apart, only their fingers still laced together. “Don't worry, Emma,” Erik replied with a smirk. “It's not catching.” 

“Oh, I don't know about that.” Emma nodded towards Charles, who was watching the exchange with something between curiosity and amusement. “This one seems to be a carrier. I should be on my way, before I risk further exposure.” She fished her phone from the pocket of her white jeans and glanced at the time. “I'm already late.” 

Erik raised an eyebrow. “For what?” 

“I do have a life beyond running your revenge fueled errands.” She moved to retrieve her coat from the back of the couch and shrugged into it. “Places to be, people to meet, and all that.” 

“Well, thank you for coming over in spite of your...previous engagements, then.” 

Emma's hand flew to her throat in mock surprise. “A thank you? From the great and powerful Magneto? I never thought I'd see the day.” She turned to Charles, who was snickering behind them. “This is all your fault, you know. It used to be his only modes of operation were revenge and sarcasm.” 

“Just wait until you hear him apologize,” Charles told her. “That'll really mess you up.” 

“I should never have put you two in the same room together,” Erik grumbled. “Don't you have somewhere to be?” 

“Don't be such a spoilsport, Erik,” Emma finished buttoning her coat as she turned to leave. “It was good to finally meet you, Charles. Remember what we talked about.” _Tell him. It will only be more difficult the longer you wait_. “Don't be a stranger. And Erik? Do try to be less of a grouch.” She grinned as Erik's lip curled in response. “Especially around Charles. You know, impressionable youth and so forth.” 

Emma was out the door before Erik could form an appropriately snarky response, and he exhaled heavily as it slammed shut. “I despise her.” 

“No you don't,” Charles said cheerfully, picking up his textbook from where it lay, discarded, on the couch. “Besides, thanks to her, I can actually study for my exams without wanting to take a power drill too my skull.” 

Erik flinched. “Can you still hear them?” 

“Only if I want to, which was kind of the point.” 

It was doubly amusing, Charles realized, when he could see Erik's reaction to his remarks written both across Erik's face and in his thoughts. “Vexing” seemed to be the word Erik applied to him the most, and it amused Charles that Erik was often maddened by his own curiosity. 

_You're sneaking around in there, Charles. Whatever are you looking for?_ Erik tapped one finger to his temple in silent question. 

“Just stretching my legs,” Charles answered aloud. “Metaphysically, of course.” 

Erik backed up a couple of steps to sit on the couch, elbows resting on his thighs, and Charles followed suit. “You've got a hell of a lot of power in that mind of yours,” Erik said. “What are you planning on doing, now that you know how to use it?” 

“Honestly?” Charles shrugged, hoping it came off as nonchalant. “I just want to get through my exams.” Followed by the rest of senior year, and then into Oxford. “Erik--” he began, but cut off as he caught a glimpse of the plan forming in Erik's mind, one where they worked together against Shaw using Charles' new skill set. 

“Are you alright? You look a bit pale.” Erik covered Charles' hand with his own. 

“Just tired, I suppose,” Charles lied. “Would you mind putting the kettle on?” He offered up a small smile, which disappeared as soon as Erik was in the kitchen with his back to Charles. He had to tell Erik sometime; he and Emma were in agreement on that account. But maybe he could put it off for just one more day. 

~

Exam time came and went, with Charles completing them with a webcam at the appointed time, while Erik was out doing who knew what. Erik still wasn't entirely forthcoming about where he went during the day, and Charles knew well enough not to pry. He assumed Erik was either hunting Shaw, meeting with Emma, or making some kind of televised mutant superiority statement, which was fine with Charles. It gave him time to figure out how to broach the subject of school. 

Charles had already replied to the admissions office at Oxford and accepted his offer. He provided a P.O box address that he set up online, located close to his high school for easy access. He was finishing off an email to his guidance counsellor now, confirming that he would return in January. After all, he couldn't very well ghost his way through senior year, not with the university of his dreams on the line. 

Erik walked in the door just as Charles was hitting send, and he paused in the doorway, uncertain. “Do you need more time? I can go back out.” 

Charles shook his head and signed out of his email before shutting the laptop. He was curled on the couch as usual, the computer balanced on his thighs. “I finished half an hour ago. I was just emailing the school.” 

Erik kicked off his boots and lined them up next to the door, taking off his overcoat as he spoke. “About next semester?” 

“Yes.” Charles hesitated, waiting for Erik to turn his back to hang his coat. “I'm going back in January.” 

Erik, to his credit, disguised his reaction well, but Charles read a mix of emotions swirling in his mind. 

“And what prompted this decision?” Erik asked after a moment. 

_It's now or never._ “I was accepted into Oxford University.” 

Another pause, one that seemed so infinitely long that Charles nearly dove right into Erik's mind to see them for himself, and then a grin broke out across Erik's face He was across the room in an instant, kneeling to hug Charles where he still sat on the couch. 

“That's amazing,” Erik said, with a genuine enthusiasm that put Charles off guard. “You work so hard, Charles. Congratulations!” 

“You're not...You're not mad?” Charles mumbled into Erik's shoulder. 

Erik eased back, balancing his weight on his heels. “Why would I be mad? I know how important your education is to you.” 

Charles raised two fingers to his temple, sending the images he'd lifted from Erik's mind the previous week back to their owner. Charles, effortlessly pulling names and locations from Shaw's minions. Charles at Erik's side, when they finally caught up with Shaw. And again, Charles, rendering Shaw frozen and powerless so that Erik could take his time tearing him apart. 

“Oh, Charles.” Erik dropped his gaze to the floor, considering his next words. “Of course I've thought about the things we could accomplish together. Especially regarding Shaw.” He raised his head to meet Charles' eyes. “I want you by my side, in every capacity.” 

“Then why are you endorsing my education?” 

“Because it's what you want. Because it's what I never had. And because your future has to be your choice.” Erik shifted to lean against the couch, his head level with Charles' feet, one leg stretched out beneath the coffee table and a knee pulled up to his chest. “Besides, as much as I'd love for us to present a united front against Shaw, I'd love it even more if I could keep you as far away from that madman as possible.” 

_Your choice._ Of course that's what this was all about. Charles had chosen to stay here, chosen to have the inhibitor removed, chosen to be with Erik. And now, Charles realized, Erik believed that given a little time and perspective, Charles would choose Erik's side in this as well. Then again, maybe he already had. He'd told Emma he wanted a better future for mutantkind, just not how Erik was selling it. Perhaps, he mused, they were two sides of the same coin. War and peace. Rage and serenity. 

“You know,” Charles said aloud, “you still haven't told me where you've been going while I write my exams. Is it because you're trying to keep this...this thing between us separate from your quest for revenge? Or is it because you still don't fully trust me?” 

Erik reached up to take Charles' hand, pressing a reverent kiss into his palm. “You know I trust you. I let you into my head, didn't I?” 

“Yes, but--” 

“But old habits die hard, and frankly, I didn't think you needed to be distracted from your exams by me recounting fruitless interrogations and Emma's complete lack of useful intelligence. She says hello, by the way.” 

“So Shaw's a ghost.” 

“Apparently.” 

“What about the docks, where you last saw him?” Charles pressed. “Someone must have seen something that morning, or at least over the days, even weeks beforehand.” 

“Already tried. The warehouse workers insist they didn't see anything.” 

“Doesn't he have, I don't know, some usual haunts? A base of operations? Something?” 

“I've been through every single one,” Erik snapped, and Charles flinched, his hand slipping from Erik's. “I'm sorry.” He craned his neck to look at Charles. “This is why I didn't want to bring it up. Look, why don't I take you out tonight? We can go for dinner, to celebrate your getting into Oxford.” 

Charles straightened, a slow smile creeping across his face. “You mean...like a date?” 

Erik found himself grinning right back as stood and offered Charles his hand. “Exactly like that.” 

Charles accepted, leaving the laptop behind on the couch as he rose to his feet. “That,” he said, leaning in so that their chests were nearly touching. “would be lovely.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the most self indulgent of chapters, sorry not sorry xD Chapter 9 is half done and hopefully getting posted within the next couple of weeks! uhhh CW for *cough* mature content *cough* and more detailed descriptions of past abuse than usual, I guess...thank you for your unending patience and continued love for this!

When Erik asked Charles where he wanted to go for dinner, Charles had only shrugged. “Take me somewhere you like,” he said. 

“You're probably used to restaurants of a higher class than I am,” Erik replied, handing Charles his coat. 

Charles had rolled his eyes at that. “Please. I've had more than enough of stuffy, snobbish waiters and places with three month wait lists. Can we just go somewhere normal?” 

Erik finished buttoning his own coat and held the front door open for Charles. “I know just the place.” 

And that was how they ended up at an all day breakfast place, independently owned and operated and with an aesthetic straight out of the fifties. Not in the gimmicky, checkerboard floors and poodle skirt sense, but in a more subtle, kitschy, two am time warp kind of way. Erik would know, he'd spent many a late night here working his way through an entire pot of coffee and a stack of files on anything and everything related to Shaw. 

A waitress in a sky blue uniform seated them in a corner booth at Erik's request. “Is this okay?” he asked, suddenly nervous. They were actually on a date, he realized. A proper date, and he felt as though he was fifteen again, uncertain how to act and desperate to impress. 

Charles reached across the table and covered Erik's hand with his own. “This is perfect.” 

He retracted his hand as the waitress approached, and Erik barely heard her ask if they would like to order drinks over the bating of his own heart. This was what Charles had wanted – something normal. And, god help him, normal was the one thing that was completely out of Erik's comfort zone. 

“Earl Grey for me, please,” Charles told the waitress. “Coffee for him.” Charles glanced over at Erik, then added, “perhaps decaf, though.” 

After their server left, Charles settled back in his seat, eyebrows raised. “I don't need to be psychic to see that your anxiety levels are through the roof.” 

“I haven't done this in...in a long time.” 

“Erik.” Charles' presence flickered at the edges of Erik's mind, a light in the darkness encroaching on his thoughts. “We've been sharing a bed for weeks. You let me into your memories, even the ones you believed to be lost. And this is where you start to panic?” 

Erik stared at the salt shaker in the centre of the table until the lid began to unscrew. He crooked a finger and it loosened all the way, then began to twist back on again. The scrape of metal against glass seemed too loud in the space between them. 

“Remember when we were in the pharmacy, and the reality of everything that had happened up to that point sunk in, an you just stood there, unable to process that you were actually happy?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“I think I get it now.” 

Erik's admission seemed to hang in the air for a moment, like a balloon ready to pop, and then Charles broke out into a huge grin. “Well,” he said. “Fancy that.” He picked up the menu before him and flipped it open. “Do they have french toast here? The good kind, with icing sugar and fruit and syrup on top. Mum never let us have breakfast for dinner, you know. She always said it was improper.” 

Erik stared at him, thrown off by the sudden change in topic, then looked down at his own menu, the salt shaker forgotten. “This time of year, I practically lived off of breakfast for dinner as a kid. My mother made the best potato latkes, everything from scratch. Including the applesauce.” 

“I'm pretty sure my mother's never set foot in a kitchen. She is, however, very well acquainted with the wine cellar.” 

Erik frowned. “Is that all she does is drink?” 

“Mostly,” Charles answered. “At first, it was to cope with the loss of my father, but at this point I'm pretty sure its just to cope with her complete sham of a second marriage.” 

“I wish you could have met my mother. She would have loved you.” 

When Charles didn't respond, Erik raised his head to meet Charles' eyes. There was a hint of sadness there, but, Erik noticed, not a trace of pity. Only a shared sense of loss for what might have been, under different circumstances. 

Erik cleared his throat. “Um. I almost forgot. I got you something.” He twisted around to reach into the pocket of his coat, which was hanging on a hook on the side of their booth. The box he retrieved was small and nondescript, a rectangle of flimsy white cardboard with a sticker on its side, printed with a barcode and a serial number. 

“I figured it was about time,” Erik said sheepishly.

Charles accepted the gift, if a little uncertain, and folded the top back on hits paper hinge. His lips formed a small “oh” of surprise when he saw what was inside. 

“Erik,” Charles' eyes flicked from him, to the box, and back again. “This is...thank you.” 

“If you're planning on going back to school, it'll probably come in handy.” Erik nodded at the box in Charles' hand, and the micro usb charger within. “Once your phone's charged, you can add mine and Emma's numbers, just in case.”

“Aren't you worried about GP tracking if I turn it on?” 

“I already removed it,” Erik said immediately, and winced. 

Charles pushed the box to the side as their server reappeared with Erik's coffee, and a fresh pot of tea for Charles. “Of course you did.” 

“Charles--” 

“Are we ready to order?”

Charles glanced up at the waitress, flashing her his brightest smile. She was around Charles' age, Erik noticed, but Charles didn't show any signs of recognition. No one from his school, then, which was a relief for both of them. 

“I'll have the stuffed challah french toast, please,” Charles said, closing his menu. “Syrup on the side.” 

She nodded, auburn ponytail bobbing as she wrote down the order. “And for yourself?” 

Erik pushed his menu away without opening it. “Breakfast burrito, chorizo instead of bacon.” When Charles nudged his foot under the table, Erik added, “please.” 

Another nod, and she was off to another table, a family of four a few booths down from theirs. Once she was out of earshot, Erik tried again. 

“Charles, I didn't mean--” 

“Yes, you did,” Charles interrupted, folding his hands on the table. “Look, I've had a lot of time to think about this, and about us. You don't think I don't realize how messed up this is? You don't think I sit there in the apartment when you're out doing who knows what, wondering what, precisely, is so wrong with me that I chose my terrorist kidnapper over my own home?” 

Erik tried to speak again, but Charles held up a hand. “The way I see it, either you can sit here wallowing in past mistakes while I debate the merits of Stockholm versus Lima Syndrome, or we can keep on pretending everything is normal. Or,” Charles continued, “we can just accept that we are not, and will never be ordinary, and just be us. Isn't that the whole point of your crusade? Upset the status quo, so that people like us don't have to blend in and pretend?” 

“Jesus, Charles,” Erik said, passing a hand over his face. “When did you get to be so pragmatic?” 

“I told you. I've had a lot of time to think about it.” 

“You know what? You're right,” Erik conceded, the ghost of a smile passing across his lips. “I've had enough of apologies and commentaries on complete lack of normalcy between us.” When Charles had asked him for someplace normal, he didn't mean some idealized version of a first date. He meant somewhere that they could be themselves. 

“Now you're getting it.” Charles nodded, evidently pleased with what he was reading in Erik's mind. “I've spent my entire life pretending I was ordinary, that I was human, and my house was a home. I'm not about to keep pretending with you.” 

He lifted the lid of his teapot and peeked inside as he spoke. Satisfied, he poured about half of its contents into his empty mug. “Speaking of which, it feels like forever since I've been in that house. Not that I'm complaining, but your apartment is an actual time warp.” 

“Time flies,” Erik murmured. “Oh, that reminds me. Your school's on the bus line, isn't it?” 

“I would assume so,” Charles answered. “I never took public transit.” 

“We should figure out the route before January, then. Maybe get you a bus pass.” 

“I also have to go back to the estate at some point,” Charles added, and Erik nearly dropped the entire packet of cream he was holding into his coffee.

“Why?” 

“There are some textbooks I need for school.” Charles' tone was carefully nonchalant. “And I wouldn't mind picking up a few other things.”

“I can grab whatever you want,” Erik reminded him. “I've already been in for some of your clothes.” 

“I know.” Charles shifted in his seat. “But I need to go back myself. For myself.” 

Erik bit his tongue, knowing full well that the first words out of his mouth would not be the right ones. He could feel Charles' light prodding against his mind, seeking an answer. 

“You know what I'm capable of,” Charles pressed. “I can be in and out with no one ever seeing me. And if they do,” Charles tapped a finger to his temple, “they won't remember.” 

“And you'll come back?” Erik blurted out, before he could stop himself. 

Charles narrowed his eyes. “Is that what you're worried about? Of course I'll come back, Erik. I don't want to be around those people any longer than I have to, even invisibly.” 

Flustered, Erik turned his attention to the salt shaker again, screwing the lid off and on without touching it. 

“Erik?” 

“Yes, alright,” Erik threw up his hands in defeat. “As if you even need my permission.” He folded his arms across his chest and found that Charles was watching him with mild amusement. “What?” 

“I've never seen you blush before.” 

Erik reddened even further. “I'm not blushing.” 

“Yes, you are. And it's adorable.” 

“I'm not adorable. I strike fear in the heart of humanity on a regular basis.” 

“Mmhmm. Adorable.” 

“Will you stop?” 

Charles raised his mug to his lips and shook his head. “Nope.” 

~

Erik loved that Charles loved to hold hands. Ever since that fist time in the Morlock tunnels, something about Charles slipping his hand into Erik's just felt right, like they were meant to fit together. The gesture had become automatic by now, from their fingers interlacing as they walked down the street to the way Charles clasped Erik's hand to his chest as he slept, back curled against Erik's front. Each time Charles reached for Erik's hand, palm to palm, fingertips grazing knuckles, Erik couldn't help but marvel at how such a simple kind of contact could make him feel, for the first time in years, like he was actually wanted. 

For the most part, Erik thought as the walked together now, hand in hand, he preferred to let Charles initiate anything physical between them. It was best for Charles to draw his own boundaries and take their relationship as far he chose, to decide what he was and wasn't ready for. It was a steep learning curve for Erik, too – he had always been better at fear than love. 

“You really do have a low opinion of yourself, don't you?” 

With a start, Erik glanced down at Charles, who was looking sideways at him. “What? You were too quiet, even for you. I might have peeked a little.” 

“You seem to be getting quite good at that.” 

“I'm a quick study.” Charles leaned into Erik's side as they walked. “And it helps that you let me roam freely among your thoughts. Within reason, of course,” he added quickly. 

“I trust you to use your discretion,” Erik replied. “You know how to keep a locked door undisturbed.” 

“That's—oh, Erik, look!” Charles tugged at Erik's sleeve, and Erik dutifully followed him to a store window displaying a miniature town, nestled in a bed of white cotton. Replica gas lamps lit the winding streets, and even from this distance Erik could see that the inside of every house was meticulously furnished, and decorated for Christmas. At the centre, ice skaters were poised on a glistening frozen pond, and an electric train circled its outskirts, puffing wisps of smoke as it trundled into a tunnel in the hill behind the town. 

“I nearly forgot about Christmas,” Charles murmured, his gaze following the train's path. “It's always been such a farce back home.” Charles was quiet for a moment before speaking up again. “I used to imagine what it might be like to live in a town like this. Someplace small and cozy, where everyone knows each other and celebrates the holidays as one big family. Where Christmas is an entire season, not just another day for posturing and preening in front of other wealthy socialites.” he let out a soft chuckle. “It's stupid, I know, wanting to escape into some imaginary, picturesque little world.” 

“No,” Erik said, wrapping an arm around Charles' shoulders, “it isn't.” 

They continued on, once again hand in hand, Charles' brow furrowing. “You don't even celebrate Christmas, do you?” 

Erik shrugged. “I don't celebrate much of anything.” 

“No, I mean, you're Jewish. That memory I pulled for you, you were lighting a menorah.” 

“Yeah. What of it?” Erik barely acknowledged that part of him, and he'd observed exactly zero Jewish holidays since Shaw happened. 

Charles' free hand fidgeted with the edge of his coat sleeve. “I was just thinking that since, um, since I have you and...and you have me this time, it might be nice.” 

Erik quirked an eyebrow. “Where exactly is this going?” 

“Christmas, Erik,” Charles looked down at his feet. “I'm talking about Christmas.” 

“Christmas,” Erik repeated. The word felt entirely foreign to his tongue. “With...me?” 

“Or Hanukkah, if you prefer.” Charles nervously chewed his lower lip. “I know you don't usually—or ever, really—but it would just be nice to have one holiday where someone actually wants me around.” 

And there it was. Erik knew Charles wasn't doing it deliberately, but damn if this didn't feel like a guilt trip. Erik wanted absolutely nothing to do with Christmas. It was pointless, frivolous, even ,to spend all that time on lights and trees and presents when he had more important things to worry about. Not to mention, he wasn't even religious. Not anymore, anyway. But here was the catch – Erik wanted everything to do with Charles, who, shockingly, wanted to spend arguably the most important holiday of the year with him. How exactly was he supposed to react? 

“I suppose...it wouldn't be the worst idea,” Erik conceded. 

Charles' face instantly lit up. “Really?” 

Oh, he was going to regret this. “Yours, though,” Erik clarified. “Not mine.” Regardless of what Charles wanted, he wasn't ready to light another menorah without his parents. 

“Can we get a tree?” 

“Just a small one.” 

“And decorations?” 

“I suppose we'll have to. For the tree.” 

“And dinner, of course.” 

“I have to cook, too?” Erik shook his head, a note of playfulness sneaking into his voice. “This is getting awfully domestic.” 

“Having second thoughts already?” Charles teased lightly. 

Another shake of his head. “If you want Christmas, then we'll have Christmas.” 

“Wow,” Charles' mouth twitched. “That was...less difficult than I imagined. I almost wonder what else I can get away with asking for.” 

“What do you want, a pony?” 

Charles tugged on Erik's arm again, pulling him into the doorway of a closed down shop, the “For Lease” sign leaning crookedly in a dust-encrusted window pane. “I was thinking of something a little more...personal.” 

Erik grinned wickedly, wrapping his arms around Charles' waist to bring them flush against each other. “And what might that be?” 

“Initiative.” 

Confusion flashed in Erik's eyes for a fraction of a second before comprehension settled in and he took Charles' mouth, kissing him deeply and savouring the taste of icing sugar and Earl Grey as he teased his tongue between Charles' lips. 

They'd been affectionate with each other, of course, since Erik had removed the inhibitor, but they hadn't kissed like this, not really, since before. Erik didn't bother with discretion as Charles' fingers latched onto the front of his coat, teeth grazing Erik's lower lip and eliciting a low growl that sent a shudder down Charles' spine. Erik smirked against his mouth, feeling the reverberation against his palm, which travelled to the base of Charles spine and curved possessively around his waist. He wanted more, and he wanted there to be fewer layers between them, and Charles must have been picking up on his thoughts because his fingers were slipping between the buttons of Erik's coat, following the firm muscles of his abdomen as far as they could reach. Erik dipped his head down, pushing Charles' scarf aside to nuzzle the curve just beneath his jawline—and a chill went through him, his head snapping up in response to something cold and wet hitting the exposed back of his neck. 

“What...” Erik glanced around, instantly at attention. 

“It's okay. Come here.” 

“It's not that. I thought...never mind.” He let Charles wrap his arms around Erik's neck and slant their lips together, but when that same cold, wet sensation hit his skin again, just above Charles' fingers, he pulled back, much to Charles' annoyance. 

“Erik, what is it?” 

“Something's touching my neck,” he grumbled. 

Charles rolled his eyes. “That would be me.” 

“Other than you.” 

Charles shifted just enough to peer around Erik's shoulder, and laughed. 

“What? What is it?” 

“Look for yourself.” 

Erik swiveled around and pursed his lips, embarrassed. “Oh.” 

“Finally, I have discovered Magneto's one true weakness,” Charles teased, extending a gloved hand from the alcove to catch a falling snowflake. “Snow.” 

“Very funny.” Erik reached into Charles' coat pocket and pulled out the black woollen cap he'd been wearing earlier. “Here,” he said, fitting it snugly over Charles' now tousled hair. “You'll catch cold.” 

“You'll warm me up. Shall we?” Charles wiggled his fingers at waist height and Erik interlocked them with his own, leading Charles out into the first snowfall of the season. 

~

Charles was in an absurdly good mood. So good, in fact, that he could almost completely ignore the pit in his stomach that grew as the taxi approached his estate. Next to him, Erik squeezed his hand, a small comfort against the anxiety welling up inside him. When the cab pulled up to the front gates, Erik paid the driver while Charles started to open his passenger door. He'd do it quick and painless, like ripping off a bandaid, just grab what he wanted and get the hell out. Erik followed him a little belatedly, holding up a hand to command the wrought iron gates open. Charles paused, watching them swing open wide enough for the pair to walk through, waiting for Erik to come and stand beside him. 

“Are you ready for this?” Erik asked.

Charles released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. “Let's find out.” 

The front doors were locked when he tried them, but Erik solved that problem with a quick flick of his wrist. Charles closed his eyes briefly, scanning the mansion for signs of life, and, relieved, told Erik, “There's no one home.” 

He wavered at the threshold, some invisible barrier preventing him from moving forward, and then Erik's hand was in his and he was taking one step, and another, and another. 

“My room's upstairs,” he offered, superfluously. Erik had already been here, and he knew exactly where Charles' room was. Ahead of them, the main stairway led up to a small landing, which branched out into two more flights of stairs directly opposite each other. 

“Would you like me to wait here?” Erik asked quietly. 

Charles turned to meet his eyes, for the first time since they'd gotten into the cab. “No.” 

He released Erik's hand and, instead of ascending the stairs, turned left and followed the wood paneled hallway to a corner office, its door also locked. 

“Erik, could you—thank you.” Charles pushed the door open when he heard the click of the lock and entered, circling the massive oak desk within. “It's got to be here somewhere.” He opened drawer after drawer, pushing aside loose documents and office supplies until he came across a tan, leather bound agenda. He slammed the drawer shut and flipped through the pages until he found the current week. 

“Just as I thought.” He tapped his index finger to yesterday's date. “Mum and Kurt are off in the Maldives for another week, and Cain's trapped at boarding school.” He returned the book to the drawer where he found it. “That means we can take our time.” 

“Good to know,” Erik remarked, examining a Gauguin painting on the adjacent wall. “Real?” 

“Fake. The real ones are in the dining room and study.” Charles inclined his head towards the door, and Erik followed him back out to the stairs. “And I hate Gauguin.” 

“Same. I was always more interested in chiaroscuro than impressionism.” 

“Somehow, that doesn't surprise me.” 

It was a full three minute trek to Charles' room, up to the third floor and as far away form the centre of the house as physically possible. 

“Any particular reason why you're out here like Rapunzel in her tower?” 

“Distance is a deterrent for Kurt when he's intoxicated.” 

Erik fell silent after that, and Charles felt a little guilty for darkening the mood. It was true, though; a drunk Kurt was a lazy Kurt, and most of the time, he'd get halfway over from his second floor room and just give up, passing out in whatever empty bedroom he found along the way. Charles had also taken to switching rooms periodically, which confused his stepfather enough to either incite a delay or force him to give up altogether. This one was his favourite so far, mostly for the spacious bay window that he'd converted into his personal reading nook, the bench crowded with pillows and cushions he'd stolen from other unused rooms. 

While Charles made a beeline for desk, setting aside notes for exams past and picking out folders and course syllabuses, Erik hung back, evidently pretending he hadn't already been here months ago rifling through Charles' wardrobe and whatever else. 

“There's an overnight bag under my bed,” Charles said without looking up. “Would you mind grabbing it?” 

The bag in question, an expensive looking duffel bag with multiple side pockets and zippers, slid out from under the bed, led by its front buckles. 

“It would have been nice to know this was here three months ago,” Erik commented as he set the bag on Charles' bed and unzipped it. “Look, you've even got a change of clothes and toiletries ready to go.” 

“It also would have been nice to know you were going to break into my house.” There was no malice in his tone as crossed the room to put his school work in the bag. “Where's my—oh.” He found his biology and physics textbooks half concealed under a throw blanket in the bay window, and set those in the bag as well. “Besides, three months ago, I was not about to do anything to make your life easy.” 

Erik huffed out a laugh. “No, I suppose not.” 

Back at his desk, Charles ran a hand over the smooth, closed top of his Chromebook. “You probably don't want me taking this along. Location tracking, and all that.” 

Erik shrugged. “I can hack it here for you, if you want. It's pretty straightforward to install a program that'll disguise your IP address. Here.” 

Charles moved over so that Charles could sit down in the desk chair and flip the laptop open. When the login screen came up, password free, Erik tsked as he clicked on the icon. 

“No password, Charles? Really.” He unbuttoned his coat while the desktop loaded, shrugging it off so it draped over the back of the chair. Charles did the same, lying his over his bag. 

“It's not like anyone ever tries to break into my JSTOR account or my English essays,” Charles pointed out. “And yours isn't password protected, either.” 

Erik was in the browser now, entering a URL that Charles didn't recognize. He was quick on the keyboard, Charles noticed. He typed faster than Charles, which was a very rare occurrence, and he barely spared Charles a glance as he replied. 

“I don't know if you noticed, but I generally live alone.” 

“Generally.” Charles slid an arm over his shoulders, and Erik leaned back so that he could sidestep the arm of the chair and settle into Erik's lap. Erik kept one hand on the trackpad, the other curled around Charles' abdomen as Charles trailed light, feathery kisses from Erik's collarbone to the line of his jaw, Erik's breath hitching only slightly when Charles' teeth nipped at the space just below his ear. 

“It seems,” Charles murmured, “that this is one rule that was made to be broken.” 

Erik idly fingered the edge of Charles' navy sweater while he worked. “Why is it there are always so many layers between us?” 

“Physically, or metaphorically?” 

“Both.” Erik fitted his other arm beneath Charles' thighs and picked him up as he stood from the chair. Charles let out a surprised, almost breathless laugh and hooked his forearms tighter around Erik's neck. As he laid Charles down on the bed, Erik inclined his head, ad Charles' travel bag floated gently down to the floor, coat and all. 

“The download's going to be awhile.” It was part statement of fact, part seeking permission. In response, Charles held his arms out to him. 

“Come here.” 

Erik complied, lowering himself between Charles' legs, careful not to bear his weight down as he met Charles' lips. They kissed lazily, languidly, not with hesitation but with an indulgent, unhurried kind of desire, until the taste of Charles' tongue teasing into Erik's mouth chased any thoughts of taking things slow from his mind. Erik cupped the back of Charles' neck to draw them closer, the need to maintain a safe space temporarily forgotten, arching into Erik's body and creating a delicious friction between them. 

Charles tugged at the bottom of Erik's t-shirt insistently, drawing it up to Erik's chest. “Take this off.” 

Erik leaned back for a moment, pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. Charles hummed appreciatively, already reaching out to explore the firm muscles of Erik's stomach, but when Erik moved to lift the bottom of Charles' sweater, Charles stopped him, catching Erik's fingers between his own. Charles turned his face towards his pillow, eyelids lowering, and Erik remained exactly where he was, a tableau of worry and uncertainty. 

“We can stop, if you're not ready.” 

“It's not that.” Charles' grip on Erik's fingers tightened. “I want this. I want you. But there's a reason I wear these layers.” 

Erik's features softened. “Oh, Charles.” He brought Charles' fingers to his chest, placed them over his heart. “Look at me.” 

When Charles didn't move, Erik brought the pads of Charles' fingers to rest on a puckered line of skin above his diaphragm. 

“Look at me.” 

This time, Charles obeyed, and Erik dropped his own hand, letting Charles cautiously trace the thin, pink line the threaded its way down Erik's upper body, effectively cleaving him in half. There were other scars too, white and spiderlike, below his breastbone and across his stomach, and Charles followed those with his fingertips as well, looking up only briefly for Erik to nod in assent. 

“We both have our reasons, Charles.” He bent down to brush a kiss against Charles' lips. “When I said I was Frankenstein's monster, I meant it.” 

“Erik...” The name was barely a whisper, almost a protest but not quite as Erik kissed him again and slid his hands beneath Charles' sweater, palms flat against Charles' stomach. 

“Sshh. Let me.” Erik took his time, giving Charles a chance to refuse again, but Charles only lifted his arms, allowing Erik to work the fabric up and over Charles' head. Charles bit his lip, but kept his eyes fixed on Erik as though daring him to say something. 

Erik took in Charles' bare skin, milky white even in the soft glow of the chandelier above them. The bruises that had circled Charles' wrists the night they met were long gone, leaving only light, pink imprints from the repeated injury. The ghosts of past abrasions coloured Charles' arms and stomach, a stark contrast against his pale complexion. 

Erik kissed the thumbprint over Charles' wrist, closing his eyes for a moment at the sensation of Charles' fluttering pulse against his lips, before he spoke. “Perfection,” he said softly. “You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Charles gently pulled his wrist out of Erik's hold, took a deep, unsteady breath, and wordlessly turned over onto his side. Erik's eyes widened, and Charles curled further into himself, picking up on Erik's distress. The scars were fresher than Erik's, slashing, angry stripes of fading red and deep, browning pink crisscrossing over older, healed versions of the same pattern. 

“Did he do this to you?” Erik gritted his teeth, fighting to keep his voice level.

Charles didn't trust himself to speak aloud. _...Yes._ He flinched when Erik traced over one of the freshest marks, the wound still ruddy and agitated, but didn't pull away. When Erik continued upwards and lightly touched Charles' shoulder in silent question, Charles rolled onto his back and reluctantly raised his eyes to meet Erik's . 

“ _Göttlich Schöne._ ” Erik cupped Charles' face in his palms. “Your scars are a part of you. They mark you as a survivor, like me.” 

He didn't feel Charles bringing the memory forward until it was there, and instant replay of what he'd told Charles only moments earlier: _When I said I was Frankenstein's monster, I meant it._

“Am I as monstrous as you think you are, then?” 

Erik stared. “No, of course not.” As if it were obvious. 

Charles could almost see the lightbulb flicker to life over Erik's head, the realization of what he meant suddenly setting in. _Practice hat you preach, Erik. Learn to love who you are._

_I'd rather love who_ you _are._

Where Erik was all sharp angles and firm, taut muscle, Charles was smooth planes, soft curves even where the blemishes of past injuries had yet to completely heal. Erik was pure reverence as he travelled down Charles' body, first with the pads of his fingers and then with his mouth, needing to taste and touch every inch of him, shamelessly flicking his tongue out to tease at Charles' nipple. Charles gasped involuntarily, and, encouraged, Erik lingered there, sucking it into his mouth and, when his teeth grazed the very tip, Charles moaned aloud in pleasure. 

Erik took his time, mapping a path across Charles' skin with his lips and tongue, Charles' breath growing more ragged as Erik's thumbs grazed his hipbones. When Erik moved to unbutton his pants, however, Charles tensed up, and Erik paused, glancing up in concern. 

“Okay?” 

Charles pushed himself up on his elbows, closed his eyes and mentally counted to three, opened them again. If he asked, Charles knew, Erik would stop here. He might sit back on his knees, waiting for Charles to decide how to proceed, or roll onto his side, let Charles come to him, and they would lie there together indefinitely. There were no set rules, no expectations between them, not like when he and Moira....well. Charles blinked twice. He didn't want to think about her right now. 

“Charles?” 

“Yes.” Not a question, but an answer. 

“Yes to this, or yes, you heard me?” 

“Both.” 

The corner of Erik's mouth twitched, and he kept his eyes fixed on Charles' expression as he undid first the button,, then the zipper, and, slowly, always giving Charles a chance to say no, coaxed his hips up off the mattress to bring the khaki material over Charles' thighs, knees, calves, ankles, and finally letting them fall to the floor beside the bed. 

The hard line of Charles' erection strained against eh fabric of his briefs, but Erik didn't move to touch him there. When Charles offered up the image of Erik palming him, stroking him, Erik flashed him a mischievous grin. 

_Patience, Charles. Let me take care of you._ He curved his wrist around Charles' ankle, gripping his calf to place Charles' foot flat on the mattress. Still propped on his elbows, Charles was unable to tear his gaze away was Erik nuzzled against his lower leg and pressed a kiss to the inside of his knee, another just above it, and another, this time with a light nip to the skin that caused Charles to inhale sharply. Impatient, Charles started to reach a hand between his legs, but Erik gently batted it away. 

“Not yet.” Another kiss, further up on Charles' thigh. 

“You're driving me mad.” The words were a hoarse, frustrated, admission, an Erik hummed in amusement against the spot he'd just kissed. 

“Good.” He leaned in for one, final kiss tucked into the innermost crook of Charles' thigh, lingering long enough to trace his tongue just beneath the elastic of Charles' briefs, and Charles released a short, breathless, keening sound, high and clear in the quietness of the bedroom. He clamped his mouth shut immediately, cheeks flushing scarlet. 

Erik chuckled softly and hooked his fingers under the waistband, of his briefs, which swiftly joined the rest of his discarded clothing on the floor. He wrapped a tentative hand around the base of Charles' cock, and, when Charles didn't protest, he bent his head and placed a single, almost chaste kiss to its tip. Charles shuddered, letting him arms drop from under him as he fisted a handful of the duvet cover. 

“Erik--” his voice broke, and he watched through lowered lashes as Erik tongued a lazy circle around his head. 

When Erik looked up, his eyes were almost black, and damn if his lips, poised between Charles' legs and glistening with pre-come, weren't the most erotic thing Charles had ever seen. Erik kept those darkened, lust-fuelled pupils on Charles' face as he licked a long stripe up the side of Charles' erection, and then, without warning, sucked the swollen head into his mouth. 

Charles moaned low in his throat and bucked his hips, thrusting most of his length into Erik's mouth. Erik released the base ad took him all the way in, instead gripping Charles' left hip to hold him in place. Distantly, Charles heard the clink of metal on metal, and if he turned his head just a little, he could catch Erik using his free hand to unbutton his jeans and free his own erection, the belt already undone. He dropped back against the pillow, the steady, unrelenting rhythm of Erik's mouth drawing short, panting gasps from Charles' own lips. 

_You're beautiful like this._ Charles picked up flashes of himself from Erik's mind – eyes closed, lips slightly parted, hair mussed and sweaty against a sky blue pillow. He immersed himself in the sheer pleasure that saturated Erik's few coherent thoughts, until it was impossible to tell where Charles' ended and Erik's began and that in itself was enough to send Charles over the edge, crying out Erik's name again. Erik stopped stroking himself to caress Charles' thighs, and he swallowed every last drop of Charles' climax. 

Charles' fingers and toes uncurled as Erik pulled back, his own cock bobbing up from the open V of his jeans. Charles sat up slowly, still entangled in a haze of Erik's emotions. 

“You're still hard,” Charles mumbled. “Let me...let me touch you.” 

“Charles, you don't have to--” 

“I know.” He shook his head, the shadows of post-orgasm exhaustion already sneaking in. “Take off your jeans.” 

Erik did as Charles asked, standing from the bed to shimmy out of his pants and black boxer-briefs before crawling back between Charles' knees. Charles was already shifting forward, hooking his ankle around Erik's waist to leverage himself into Erik's lap. Erik took Charles' face in his hands and kissed him, but what was meant to be a sweet affirmation became sloppy and open mouthed as Charles grasped Erik's erection between them. He ground himself against Charles' hand, and Charles let him, each stroke a quick, sure motion. 

Erik dropped his hands to Charles' neck and shoulders, his head dropping forward and grazing cheek against cheek. His breath came in wet, hot gasps in Charles' ear and Charles tangled the fingers of his unoccupied hand in Erik's hair, keeping them close as he brought Erik to completion. 

Erik barked out something unintelligible as he came, something that sounded vaguely German to Charles' ears, and slumped bonelessly against Charles, forehead resting against Charles' shoulder. They remained there for a few long minutes, holding onto each other like a lifeline, until Charles shivered at the sensation of cool air against his bare back. 

Erik lifted his head to bring his lips to Charles' temple. “You're cold.” 

“A little,” Charles admitted. “You might be a furnace, but this room is not.”

When Erik reached past him for the edge of the duvet, Charles stopped him. “We should clean up first.” He nodded down towards his stomach, where the product of Erik's not insubstantial climax was already starting to dry. 

“Wait here.” Erik extricated himself Charles' embrace and padded towards an adjacent wooden, door, not the one they had entered previously but one left slightly ajar that led to a small private bathroom. Charles shivered again and wrapped his arms around himself, listening to the sound of Erik opening a cupboard, running water, and finally returning, white wash cloth in hand. 

He welcomed the warmth of the cloth against his abdomen as Erik cleaned him up, putting as much care into this simple task as he had into the complete oral worship of Charles' body. While Erik turned his attention to his own thighs and stomach, Charles manoeuvred himself under the covers, pulling them up to his chin as he savoured the warmth of the massive duvet. 

Erik couldn't help but smile as he left the used cloth draped over the arm of the desk chair and returned to Charles' side. “That bed is far too big for you.” 

“You're right,” Charles agreed, flipping the corner of the duvet over in invitation. “It was made to be shared.” 

~


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with a new chapter! If you're still reading this, thank you for sticking with me while I meander my way through this story xD I've pretty much laid out the next few chapters so they *should* be coming soon (fingers crossed).   
> This chapter is a bit of a departure from your regularly scheduled Cherik fluff, as i the next one (which is also done - I just need to type it up from my notebook). Also, I am well aware that I mentioned Christmas in the last chapter and then entirely skipped it but it'll probably happen as a tie-in holiday special later or something? I don't know. Enough rambling from me, lets get on with it, am I right?

Charles had always loved the first day of school. It was a chance to get out of his house, away from Kurt, who sent most of the fall season away on business trips. Away from his mother, who spent most of the season at the bottom of a bottle. And, most importantly, far away from his stepbrother, Cain, who was shipped off to boarding school upstate. It was, in fact, the best private military academy that money could buy, and Kurt had no difficulty dipping into his wife's finances whenever he saw fit. Not that Charles was hard up for money, of course. In Sharon Xavier's moments of sobriety, which were becoming few and far between, she had provided Charles with a trust fund in his name, left for him by his father. He had access to only a fraction of those accounts until he turned eighteen, but that fraction was still a much higher allowance than anyone else at his high school received. 

He didn't care that he had to go to a public school. He didn't care that everyone stared when he was dropped off in a Rolls Royce in clothes that probably cost more than anyone else's entire wardrobe. He didn't even care that most of the other kids thought he was a massive snob because of his money and his advanced placement classes. Alright, Charles admitted, as he waited for the bus to arrive, maybe he did care a little bit. But he had his friends, and he had his books, and that was really all that mattered. School was, for the most part, a safe space. He loved the smell of chalk and old books and fresh ink on paper, and he loved, more than anything, to learn. 

It was almost surreal, being out here on the street without Erik beside him. Erik had been up and in the kitchen making breakfast when the alarm went off, jolting Charles out of a perfectly dreamless sleep and reminding him that, for the first time in almost three months, he actually needed to be somewhere. 

“Are you sure you don't want me to walk you?” Erik had asked over breakfast. 

“I know where the bus stop is, Erik. I'll be fine.” Charles had downed the rest of his orange juice and stood up, rounding the table to plant a kiss on Erik's cheek. He'd feigned confidence so that Erik would stop mothering him, but now, as he deposited his fare and took a seat at the back of the bus by himself, Charles began to regret his decision. 

_It'll be fine,_ he told himself. Most of the time everyone ignores you anyway, and Moira's probably forgotten all about that run-in last month. He took a deep breath and glanced around the rest of the bus. It wasn't too crowded yet, and no one was paying the slightest amount of attention to him. And, with a little luck, neither would anyone at school. 

~

_Xavier kid's back, wonder where he's been--_

_Disappears for months--_

_\--heard he was being homeschooled, why's he back_

_Acts like nothing's happened, still thinks he's better than us. What's his problem?_

_\--looks different. Still pale, though_

_Moira's gonna flip when she hears--_

Charles squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead to the cool metal of his locker. Breathe. He could manage this, just like Emma taught him, just filter it all out and clear his mind--

“Charles!” 

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of his name, and then she was on him, flinging her arms around his neck, blonde hair flying into his face. 

“I can't believe you actually came back! I mean, you said so in your text, but I didn't think you'd actually show.” 

“And yet, here I am,” Charles mumbled, awkwardly returning his sister's embrace. 

Raven released him and took half a step back, looking him up and down. “You look fine. In fact, you look like you've actually got some colour.” 

Charles rubbed at the back of his neck, despite the fact that there was no longer anything there. “You just squeezed me too hard, that's all. I promise you, I haven't gotten any sun lately.” 

“Oh yeah, you've been holed up with your new boyfriend, am I right?” She nudged him with her elbow. “That's some Stockholm Syndrome you've got there.” 

Charles reddened. “Raven, it's not like that. I told you--” 

Raven waved him off. “I know, 'it's complicated.' And now that we'll be seeing each other on the regular, you'll have time to tell me all about it.” 

Charles started to reply, but, thankfully, the sound of the school bell cut him off. “Later,” he said, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder. “I have to get to class.” 

He hurried off down the hall without a backward glance, knowing full well that Raven was watching him go. He'd already sketched a vague picture of his situation via email, but there was so much she still didn't know, like how Erik was actually Magneto, mutant terrorist, or that he'd removed Charles' inhibitor. He was still working out how to broach either of those subjects, but for now, he just had to focus on homeroom. 

There was no way in hell he was entering another whirlwind of accusatory, rumour fueled minds, though. Charles paused just outside of his classroom door and paused, raising two fingers to his temple. This was another trick Emma had taught him, and he'd been practicing for the past week or so, whenever he was out with Erik. Now, as he walked into the room, every student he passed barely even registered his presence, their gazes sliding over him and forgetting that he'd ever been there as soon as he was out of view. Charles dropped into his seat at the back of the room, all but invisible to those around him. He doubted he'd be able to spend the entire semester like this, but at least for now, he could enjoy a little peace and quiet. 

“Charles?” 

_Damn_. He'd been concentrating so hard on the people already in the room that he hadn't realized there was still an empty desk next to him. The boy that claimed it was tall and wiry, all angles and elbows as he folded himself into his seat, pushing his glasses up on his nose. 

“Raven said you were back, but I didn't quite believe it.” 

“There seems to be a lot of that going around,” Charles muttered. 

Hank looked away, embarrassed. “It's just, you know, you disappeared. No one knew what happened. I mean, word was you were being home schooled, but we all know you hate it there.” 

Charles sighed. “Look, I'd really rather not talk about this right now.” Ahead of him, students that had previously ignored him were now turning around in their seats, watching the exchange. “We'll talk at lunch, alright?” 

“Oh, uh, of course. Sorry.” Hank pushed his glasses up again and started rummaging through his backpack, while Charles did some telepathic damage control. Oh, he could get used to this. Then again, he realized, he probably shouldn't. 

Luckily, the teacher chose that moment to start the class. She introduced herself briefly, passing out the course outlines without giving Charles a second glance as she dropped a copy on his desk. He flipped to the required reading list first, scanning titles and allowing himself a small amount of satisfaction when he saw that he'd already read both novel studies and the obligatory Shakespeare (Macbeth, as predicted). Things were already starting to look up, Charles thought, his posture relaxing just a fraction. Now all he had to do was make it through the rest of the day. 

~

This time, Charles felt Raven's approach well before she bounced up beside him, looping her arm through his and leading him to her usual table in the cafeteria. 

“Everyone's going to be so excited to have you back,” she was saying, balancing her tray on her free hand. 

“Did you tell them anything?” 

“You mean did I mention your new metal bending boyfriend?” Raven smirked. “No, it's been more fun watching the boys place bets on where you've been. Which, by the way, they'll be looking for you to settle.” 

They skirted around a table crammed with what looked like the entire girls' rugby team, gear shoved under their feet and crossed the few remaining feet to a table under a high window that looked out onto the field. Alex and Darwin were already there, heads bent together over some portable game system clutched in Darwin's hand. Charles had never been much of a gamer, and he'd never bothered to learn the names of all of the handhelds that Darwin loved. They didn't even look up at Charles and Raven's approach until Sean popped up next to them, leaning an elbow on Alex's shoulder. 

“Well look who finally decided to show up.” Sean tossed Charles a lopsided grin, a faint Irish accent tingeing his voice. “So what was it? Homeschool? Rehab? Trip to Australia to take care of a sick relative?” 

“Jesus, Sean, give the guy a chance to sit down,” Alex nudged Sean's arm off his shoulder. The other one, Charles noticed as he put his tray down across from Alex, was in a cast. 

“I can't leave you alone for a moment, can I?” Charles inclined his chin towards Sean's injured arm. 

Sean slid into the chair next to Alex and rested his cast on the table. “This? Just another one of McCoy's science experiments gone wrong. Fun fact: flying with the power of soundwaves sounds great in theory, but not so much in practice.” 

Charles frowned, confused. “I don't follow.” 

Raven sat down next to him, crossing her legs under the table. “That's right, you weren't here when Sean's powers manifested.” 

Charles blinked. “You're a mutant.” 

“I'm a Banshee,” Sean told him proudly. “I have a sonic scream.” 

“In other words, he's even more annoying than he was before you left,” Darwin said, still focused on his game screen. 

It was funny, Charles thought, how they'd all ended up together because they were outsiders, both by high school standards and by humanity's. Sean had been the last among them to manifest his ability, most likely because he was also the youngest of the group. Raven, Alex, and Darwin were only year behind Charles, but Sean was still a sophomore. He'd be sixteen in the spring, and he'd always been teased as the baby of the group.

“Guess that's all of us now,” Alex observed, and glanced at Charles. “Well, almost all of us.” 

He'd never told the others about his telepathy; it had just seemed irrelevant when he couldn't even use it. Raven was the only person before Erik that he'd told about the inhibitor. 

“Um. Actually,” Charles began, hesitating when he noticed that all four of them were now staring at him. 

“What, you came back a mutant, too?” Sean slumped down in his chair. “Man, I thought I was the only one with shiny new powers.” 

“You are. I mean, my mutation isn't new. It was just...” Charles paused, searching for the right way to explain. “In storage.” 

Raven's eyes widened. “Charles, you didn't.” 

“You knew?” Alex interrupted. “Wait, is this why you disappeared?” 

“No, I--” 

“What does that even mean, 'in storage'?” Alex used finger quotes for emphasis. “What, you only take it out for special occasions?” 

“My stepfather made me wear an inhibitor. But I had it removed.” 

“Why, are you dangerous?” Sean leaned across the table to scrutinize him more closely. 

Charles found himself biting back a laugh. _That depends on who you ask_. Aloud, he said, “I'm a telepath.” 

Dead silence. Charles considered casing their minds to see if it was fear that had shut them up so quickly, and then decided that if it was, breaking into their minds would just prove them right. 

Darwin was the first to speak up. “That still doesn't explain where you've been all this time.” 

Charles looked down at his plate. “It's really not that interesting.” 

“That's what people say when it's actually incredibly interesting,” Darwin pointed out, and the rest of the group nodded in unison. 

“Maybe I should wait until Hank gets here?” 

“As if Hank could be bothered to leave the third floor lab and grace us with his presence,” Raven nudged Charles under the table with her foot. “Come on, Charles, Let's hear it.” 

Charles sighed heavily. Maybe if he just framed it differently, he could avoid mentioning what really happened. “Home's been worse than usual lately. I had a chance to leave, so I took it.” As if he had a choice, in the beginning. “I've been staying with...a friend.” 

“More like a tall, handsome mutant stranger,” Raven threw in, and Charles shot her a look. 

“He's not a stranger.” 

“But he is a tall, handsome mutant?” Alex quirked an eyebrow in interest, and Darwin finally tore his attention from his game to swat Alex's arm. 

“Excuse me, is this tall handsome mutant right here not good enough for you?” Darwin accused, his tone light and teasing. 

Alex leaned in for a kiss, and grinned against Darwin's lips. “You know it's always been the other way around.” 

Sean groaned loudly and jabbed Alex in the ribs. “Can you two stop being all cuddly and romantic for like, three seconds? I want to know how much money you guys owe me.” 

“The answer is none,” Alex told him. “You bet us he ran off with a girl. 'Girl' being the operative word here.” 

“Aww, come on.” 

Charles tuned out the rest of their bickering, and the rest of the cafeteria, while he was at it. The space around them was rapidly filling with the chattering of hundreds of students, both verbal and mental, and Charles took this brief respite from conversation to fortify his telepathic barriers. This was the last place he wanted to lose control. 

“So who is this mystery guy?” Alex asked, steering the conversation back to Charles. “He's got to be older, right? Do we know him?” 

_Maybe from the 6 o'clock news_. “Look, its not a big deal. I just needed some time away to sort out my priorities.”

“I still think I should win,” Sean grumbled, and Darwin looked at him askance. 

“Nah, you said he was off with some girl. From where I sit, it looks like he ran away from one.”

As if on cue, Moira and a gaggle of girls Charles barely recognized swept past their table, chattering and giggling among themselves. Moira made a point of averting her eyes and raising her voice as they passed, putting far more enthusiasm into her Intro to Law assignment then was really necessary. Charles kept his back to her, matching Sean's lack of posture to make himself as small as possible. Once the girls were a safe distance away, he breathed a sigh of relief and started to sit up, only to freeze with the realization that everyone's eyes were on him. 

“Um.” He cleared his throat, cheeks warming. “Is Hank still up in the lab? Perhaps I should go check on him--” He attempted to stand from the table, but Raven grabbed his arm and yanked him back down. 

“You're not getting off that easily. Spill.” 

Why did he think it was a good idea to come back? Now would be a good time to tweak their perceptions a little bit an get away unnoticed...and then lose the only friends he had once they realized they'd been manipulated. 

“She saw me at the pharmacy,” Charles admitted. 

Raven released him and crossed her arms. “That doesn't seem too bad.” 

“With Erik.” 

“And we have a name,” Alex grinned triumphantly. “Man, that even sounds like a tall, dark stranger kind of name.” Then, “Wait. Did Moira think you guys were still going to prom together?” 

“Maybe?” Charles offered weakly. 

Raven groaned. “Come on, Charles. I told you to be straight with her. She's had her dress picked out for two years.” 

"Yes, well,” Charles cut in. “Now she thinks I left her for an older man, so it doesn't matter.” 

It was all too clear in Moira's thoughts. Even from across the room, Charles could easily pick her out in a crowd, and he could only hope that as was in her mind wasn't what was coming out of her mouth. It would be easy to eavesdrop, Charles knew, but frankly, he didn't want to find out. He stood from his seat, and this time, Raven didn't stop him. 

“I need some air.” 

~

The rest of the afternoon passed without incident, and Charles only felt little guilty using his telepathy to smooth away any potentially awkward encounters. His last two classes were the sciences – biology and physics back to back, which equated to 2.5 hours of sharing a lab bench with Hank. Charles had braced himself for the barrage of questions, but Hank was entirely preoccupied with whatever he'd been doing in the lab over lunch. Something about mutation, Charles gathered, peering over Hank's shoulder at his cramped notations, but he didn't have a chance to read further before class was called to attention. 

They would, by unspoken agreement, be lab partners again this semester, which suite Charles just fine. He wouldn't nee to work with a stranger, and Hank would have someone that could actually keep up with him. Though a year behind Charles, Hank's prodigious mind had landed him spots in multiple senior level classes, most of which he shared with Charles. The pair had become instant friends, both with an intelligence and capacity to learn well beyond their years. 

While Hank scribbled furiously beside him, Charles found himself staring at the clock above the classroom door. Now would be a good time to have Erik's powers, Charles thought to himself, willing the minute hand to move faster as he accepted the stack of course outlines from the student in front of him. He took one for himself and one for Hank, and as he passed them back he wondered idly if Erik would actually be at home when Charles returned. There was a good chance he'd taken advantage of their time apart to follow a lead on Shaw, or to spend the afternoon with Emma. For all Charles knew, Erik was off destroying another major landmark, preaching about the superiority of mutantkind. Although, now that Charles thought about it, Magneto hadn't actually made the news in awhile. Not since before Christmas, at least. 

Charles turned his attention back to his syllabus and attempted to tune back in to what his teacher was saying. Only a couple of hours to go, and then Charles would find out exactly what Erik had been up to all day. 

~

 

Erik hated waiting. Whether it was a phone call, a lead on Shaw, or the next subway, He couldn't stand just waiting around. But right now, more than anything, he hated waiting for Charles to come home from school. It was pointless, he knew, to pace around the apartment like a caged animal instead of doing something productive with his time. It wasn't as though they spent every waking moment together, and Erik had left Charles alone here many times over. And yet, without Charles here, curled up on the couch with a book or humming away in the kitchen as he poured himself a tea, the apartment felt hollowed out and empty. At first, Erik had tried to distract himself with the second book in the Shades of Magic series, planning to catch up so that he and Charles could read the final installment together. It was a good idea, until Erik looked up to share some insight about the characters before remembering he was alone. 

He spent some time online, perusing news feeds for something, anything, that might point towards Shaw, but he'd just ended up here. Pacing. Checking his phone, and resisting the urge to send Charles a text, or to peek surreptitiously out the window for signs of him walking up the street. 

God, he was pathetic. Life was so much easier before, Erik thought as he dropped down on to the couch, when revenge was his top priority. If he wasn't so enamoured with Charles, he probably would have found Shaw and driven a blade through his skull by now. With Charles away at school for thirty hours a week, maybe this was an opportunity to refocus and remember his purpose. 

The shoebox was exactly where he left it, tucked away in the furthest corner of the hall closet behind a stack of maroon coloured towels. Erik took the lid off as he entered Charles' former bedroom, already sifting through photos, post-it notes, and printed news articles to find the world map underneath. Erik found the old pushpin holes in the wall above the dresser and pinned it back up in place. He paused, his gaze roving over the notes scribbled over cities, states, and European countries, some still useful, and some woefully outdated. He always had been more of a visual person when it came to sorting information. Erik picked the shoebox back up, flipping it to dump all of its contents onto the bed. It was time to get back to work.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnd we're back! Comments give me life, thank you as always for taking the time to give a little love and feedback! I don't have an exact chapter count yet but I feel like this is about the 60-70% mark? We'll see. I didn't actually start plotting anything out until about 2 chapters ago xD

Charles took the stairs two at a time, eyes on his feet lest his wet boots slip and miss an extra step He'd texted Erik after school, but Erik hadn't responded, and Charles had attributed it to him being busy, out of the apartment, or both. Still, Erik had never ignored his messages since Charles had started using his phone again, and he couldn't help the slight trepidation shadowing his thoughts as he pushed his key into the lock. 

The apartment was eerily quiet when Charles entered, and he might have assumed it was empty if he hadn't felt the the presence of Erik's mind the moment he walked in. Charles lined his boots up on the mat next to Erik's and shrugged off his coat, reaching out just a little further telepathically as he hung it up to find Erik, of all places, in Charles' old bedroom. 

“Erik?” he paused in the doorway, brows creasing together in concern when he caught sight of the man in question seated on the bed, ramrod straight against the headboard. His gaze was fixed on what appeared, beneath countless post-it notes and news clippings, to be a world map. 

“Erik,” Charles repeated, approaching the bed and giving Erik a tiny psychic nudge as he did so. 

Erik blinked, apparently noticing Charles for the first time, and his face instantly softened. 

“I missed you.” 

The words tumbled out unchecked, a simple statement of fact, and Charles felt his cold-flushed cheeks warm as he nodded towards the opposite wall. 

“What's with the conspiracy board?” 

Erik cocked his head to one side. “Come here.” 

Charles acquiesced, settling himself into Erik's waiting arms and curling up against Erik's side. From back here, he could see why Erik was so absorbed in this map, ad he could have kicked himself for not understanding sooner. 

“You're tracking Shaw.” 

Erik's cheek brushed against Charles' hair as he nodded. “This is what I used this room for before. I figured since you didn't need it anymore, it might serve its original purpose.” 

“I know how important this is to you,” Charles said carefully, “but don't you think this is a little...obsessive? You didn't even hear me when I came in just now.” 

Erik stiffened. “I need to find him. Nothing else has worked since I lost him at the docks. What would you have me do?” 

Charles raised his head to look at him. “Find a balance. If you lose yourself in revenge, he wins.” 

“That day at the docks, I could have pushed myself to the limit and dragged him down with me.” 

“But you didn't.” 

“No,” Erik agreed. “Because even then, I couldn't get you out of my head. So you see?” He lifted his had to Charles' cheek. “There's nothing to worry about. I'll come back to you.” 

He leaned in to met Charles' wind-chapped lips, the kiss soft and full of promise. 

_You big softie._

_Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to keep._

Charles settled back against Erik's side, legs curled inward to rest his calves on Erik's own outstretched thighs. He gestured to a green pushpin on the map. “What's that? In Switzerland.” 

“Shaw's main offshore account. He's got most of his assets locked away in a prominent Swiss bank, including a stockpile of inherited Nazi gold.” 

Charles fell silent, considering, and Erik glanced down at him. “I know that look. What do you see that I don't?” 

“Well, if that's where he keeps all his assets, he must transfer funds from there to a local account.” 

“Yeah, but he hasn't used it in months.” 

Charles shook his head. “Doesn't matter. If you can access that one, you should be able to get the account numbers he's done past transfers with.” 

“And use them to hack his more recent transactions,” Erik finished. 

“Exactly.” 

“You're a genius.” 

“You're welcome.” 

Erik shifted away to reach for his laptop, on the nightstand, ad Charles in turn slid off the bed and turned towards the door.

“Where are you going?” 

Charles shrugged. “You're obviously going to be busy for awhile, and I have homework to do.” 

Erik frowned. “Already? It's only your first day back.” 

“I'm taking two AP science classes, so yes,” Charles answered, “Already.” 

Erik didn't reply to that, already logging into the laptop and opening various windows while the machine hovered just slightly above his now crossed legs. Charles only rolled his eyes and left the room, picking up his satchel from where he'd left it by the front door. 

In truth, Charles only had a couple of small, introductory assignments, and they weren't due until the following week. But he didn't want to hang around Erik while he was working, and there was no reason he couldn't get a head start before the weekend. 

Charles dropped his bag on the coffee table and went to put the kettle on, brushing lightly against Erik's mind as he did so. Erik didn't seem to notice, already deep into hacking Shaw's accounts, and Charles sighed, resigning himself to an evening of unsolicited alone time. 

~

That night, Charles had to ask Erik twice to come out and join him for dinner. They played a few rounds of chess afterwards, watched the news, and went to bed together. Two nights later, it took Charles three tries to get Erik off of his computer, and he returned to it right after dinner, saying he was “so close” to finding the information he needed. On Friday, Charles didn't even bother calling Erik for dinner, and, half an hour after Erik told him five more minutes, Charles trudged back across the hall to take Erik's hand and tug him off the bed to join him in theirs. 

On Saturday morning, however, Charles woke up to find himself alone, the pillow next to him cold and long deserted. He reached out with his mind reflexively, an was not at all surprised when he located Erik back in the other bedroom, computer at the ready. Through Erik's eyes, he could see the various bank statements and decrypted files fanned out on the bed, most of the highlighted, annotated, or both. 

It was like telepathic tunnel vision, the way Erik was so singlemindedly focused on figuring out the exact trail of clues that would lead him to his goal. Charles was really starting to regret helping him earlier in the week. Perhaps that was selfish of him, he thought as he set his bare feet on the chilly hardwood floor and shivered, but this was a side of Erik he'd hoped he wouldn't have to face again. Charles fished a pair of socks from the dresser and snatched his favourite blue cardigan from its surface before heading back across the hall. 

Erik didn't look up when Charles stalked over to the side of the bed, one of the few times that Charles actually towered over him. 

“Erik.” 

Silence.

“ _Erik_.” 

“Mm.” 

Charles' hand balled into fists at his sides. “I can tolerate being ignored for a few hours a night. I can tolerate having to call you more than once for dinner. Hell, I can even tolerate having to take the bus to the supermarket after school in freezing temperatures because you haven't left this bloody room all day. But I will not,” he continued, his voice rising, “put up with having to practically beg you to come to bed only to wake up alone, because you clearly just waited for me to fall asleep to go right back to work again.” 

Erik reshuffled a few sheets of paper, barely listening while Charles' frustration only increased. “I'm almost there,” he muttered, more to himself that to Charles. “There's something here I'm not seeing.” 

“That,” Charles seethed, “would be me. Did you even hear a word I said?” 

No response. 

“Look at me, Erik.” 

When Erik still didn't answer, Charles ripped the sheet he was examining from his hands in one swift motion. “I said, _Look at me!_ ” 

Erik's head snapped up to face Charles, his eyes glassy and vacant, and Charles paled, letting the paper fall to the floor as his hands flew to his mouth. 

“I...I didn't mean...” He took a step backwards, entire body trembling. 

Erik blinked as he regained awareness and reached out to touch Charles' arm, but Charles recoiled and took another step back, eyes wide with horror, before turning and fleeing from the room. 

~

It had snowed overnight, and Charles might have enjoyed the crunch of freshly fallen snow beneath his feet if he wasn't wrapped up in the guilt and shame of what he'd just done. He didn't know where he was going; his only thought had been to put some distance between himself and Erik before he completely lost control and did something worse. Besides, Charles thought bitterly, Erik had probably returned to his work the moment Charles bolted, tugging his coat on over his pyjamas even as the front door slammed behind him. 

He could still see the way Erik had looked at him, vacant and completely helpless to Charles' telepathic command. He'd been too free with his powers, Charles realized, tweaking the perceptions of his classmates to the point where it was becoming second nature to use his powers to isolate himself from them. If he hadn't been using his powers so recklessly, he would have been able to better control them around Erik. Maybe Kurt was right, maybe he was too dangerous, and that inhibitor had been necessary to keep him from hurting others. 

Lost in thought, Charles unwittingly veered towards a set of iron gates, stopping just before he smacked right into the bars. He glanced down into the deserted subway entrance, and then at the padlock that chained the gates in place. The lock itself was frozen solid, but Charles was able to drag the gates open just far enough to squeeze through a gap under the chains. Then, slowly, with one hand against the concrete wall rather than the frigid metal railing, he made his was down the snow covered stairway. 

The tunnels were almost colder than outside, the kind of cold that wormed its way beneath Charles' skin and seeped into his bones as he tried to retrace his and Erik's route through the darkness. He didn't dare use his powers to track the Morlocks, not after what he'd done to Erik this morning. 

He wandered aimlessly, the cold slowing his limbs and his brain as he trudged further into the depths, until a light flickered on only a few feet away, catching his attention. Callisto stepped out of a shadow, the light in question emanating from the top of her staff as she wordlessly wrapped a heavy blanket around Charles' shoulders and led him down an adjacent tunnel. 

~

Erik had never imagined he'd be in that position again. He didn't even fully process what happened until he heard the front door slam, and he squeezed his eyes shut, opening them again as the fog began to clear. It had only been a few seconds, but in that moment, Erik had become nothing but a passenger in his own mind, helpless to do anything as Charles ripped into his mind and then, utterly horrified, ran from the apartment before Erik could regained his senses enough to follow. 

Hazily, Erik stumbled from the bedroom and shoved his boots on over his bare feet, and peacoat and scarf were thrown on haphazardly over his pyjamas as he locked the door behind him with a flicker of his power as he headed for the stairs. 

_This is all my fault_. If he hadn't been so preoccupied with finding Shaw, this never happened. He'd promised that he wouldn't lose himself to obsession, and instead he'd managed to lose the one person that mattered to him more than his revenge. And yet, another part of him insisted, he'd been so close to locating Shaw. If Charles hadn't—no. He couldn't think like that. Charles had been so angry, and with good reason. He wouldn't have lost control if Erik hadn't pushed him to that point. When he caught up with Charles, things would be different. There had to be a balance, for both of them. 

Erik paused in front of his building and looked around. Charles could be anywhere—or not, according to the fresh set of bootprints leading out and down the street from where Erik stood. The route became more familiar as he jogged around one corner, down the block and around the next, stopping in front of the closed down subway entrance. The footprints continued down the steps beyond the gates, which had been wedged open just far enough for a certain teenage telepath to squeeze through. At Erik's command, the padlock warmed and fell open with a loud, grating click, the gates swinging just a little wider to allow Erik to walk through and descend into the gloomy underground. 

~

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” 

Teeth still chattering, Charles hunched closer to the makeshift fire pit that Callisto has directed him to and shrugged. He didn't know what had brought him down here, other than a need to get away. He was too dangerous to be out in the world. Maybe this was where he belonged. 

Callisto cocked her head to one side, leaning her weight on her staff. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

No, he really didn't. 

At his silence, Callisto returned his shrug with one of her own. “Alright, I'm going to check on breakfast, then. Stay as long as you need.” 

How she stayed warm in that t-shirt and denim vest, Charles would never know. He was still shivering under his winter coat and the blanket Callisto has given him. Then wooden bench he was sitting on creaked under an added weight, and Charles glanced over to find one of the younger boys, Artie, perched beside him, blinking owlishly. A cartoonish picture of Erik's profile, followed by a question mark, ballooned above him, and Charles shook his head. 

“Just me today. Sorry.” 

Another projection, Charles' face mirrored back to him along with an emoji-like sad face. 

“I'm okay,” Charles reassured him, and his heart dropped as Artie formed another picture, this one of Erik yelling at Charles, with an accompanying question mark. Again, Charles shook his head. 

“No. Um.” He bit his lower lip and brought two fingers to his temple, adjusting Artie's picture to show Charles angry with Erik instead. Then, he made his cartoon self make the same gesture as him, fingers to temple, before making it run away in shame. 

Artie watched, transfixed, until Charles was done, and then replaced the tableau with a new one – Erik hugging Charles, and a heart beside the reunited pair. In response, Charles projected his own image, one of Erik still at home, working away on his laptop. Artie frowned and drew a circle around the heart he'd made for emphasis. 

“I know. I just...I don't know.” Charles dropped his hand to his lap. “can we talk about something else?” 

Artie narrowed his eyes, thinking, and moments later lit up with a wide grin. Over his head, a half drawn cat and a question mark flashed. 

Charles offered a small smile back. “You want to play?” 

Artie nodded, still grinning. 

“Okay. How about...” Charles projected a set of rounded ears, adding a pointed nose after a few seconds, and whiskers a few seconds after that. In response, Artie projected a completed drawing of a mouse, this time with an exclamation mark, and Charles chuckled. “That's right! Your turn.” 

~

Erik watched from the narrow archway as Charles, with some hesitation,confessed what had happened that morning via mental projection. Beside him, Callisto smirked as Artie offered up an image of Charles and Erik making up.

“The kid's your number one fan.” 

Erik didn't reply, more interested Charles' less than enthusiastic reaction, and a fresh wave of shame washed over him when Charles conjured a picture of Erik on his laptop. Had he really been so selfish that Charles believed Erik wouldn't notice him running away? 

When their conversation devolved into telepathic Pictionary, a game the pair had started playing during a post-Christmas supply run, Erik started forward. Faster than his eye could track, Callisto's staff whipped out and blocked his path. 

“Give him a minute,” she told him quietly. 

Erik obeyed, remaining where he was while Charles exercised his telepathy with ease while he played with Artie. At one point, Charles actually laughed out loud, causing a smile to tug at the corners of Erik's mouth.

_Perfection._

Charles' head whipped up and instantly met Erik's eyes from across the room. The unfinished elephant he'd been projecting disappeared, and he said something to Artie, who nodded and ran over to Callisto's other side. Callisto patted Artie's smooth, hairless head and retracted her staff. Neither of them made a move to leave the room. 

Charles remained very still, focusing on the fire pit rather than Erik's approach. Erik took Artie's place next to him, angling his body to face the fire as well. 

“Charles, I--” 

“I didn't mean to,” Charles blurted out, interrupting Erik's half-formed apology. He pulled the blanket tighter around him. “You just made me so mad, and I couldn't....” he broke off, unable to finish. “You were being a jerk, but you didn't deserve that.” 

“And you didn't deserve to be ignored.” 

“No,” Charles said flatly. “I didn't. But that doesn't change what I did.” 

“I've had worse,” Erik said automatically. Then, “I just wanted to pass the time while you were at school. To get back on track with locating Shaw.” 

Charles raised his head to look at him, and Erik felt something crack inside his chest as he took in Charles' pained expression. 

“I know how much this means to you, Erik. I would never ask you to stop looking for him. But I did ask you not to let yourself get lost in this obsession, and it took you, what, less than week, to do exactly that.” 

“I know,” Erik took Charles' hand in his, relaxing only slightly when Charles didn't pull away. “And I'm so sorry, Charles. I never wanted to hurt you.” 

“I need you to be more present, Erik. I'm not saying we need to spend every moment of every day together, but I shouldn't have to ask you repeatedly to join me for dinner, as if I'm an inconvenience to you.” _As if I'm just a prisoner again._

“You're not an inconvenience. And you're certainly not a prisoner. You haven't been for a long time.” Erik inched closer to Charles, their knees touching. “There will be no going back, only moving forward. And that's a promise.” His gaze flickered down to his lap and back up again. “I can't give up the hunt for Shaw, but I can't let it run my life—our lives—anymore.” 

Charles shuffled closer as well and rested his head against Erik's shoulder. “Good. Because I don't want to fight anymore. It's exhausting.” 

“Maybe don't run all the way to the Morlock tunnels next time, then,” Erik teased. “Why did you come down here, anyway?” 

“I have a standing invitation. And after what I did to you, I didn't feel like I was fit to be among the general population.” 

Erik flinched, as though he'd been slapped. “I'm the one who pushed you to that point.” 

“I've been too liberal with my powers.” 

“No. They're a part of you, just as my metal bending is a part of me. Don't let anyone, even me, let you doubt yourself.” 

“I'm sorry for losing control.” 

“And I'm sorry for making you feel like less that what you are.” 

“Heh. So much for no apologies.” 

Erik smirked. “Maybe this once, we can make an exception.” 

“Just this once,” Charles agreed. Then, “You know you can't sneak up on a telepath, right?” 

Erik raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” 

“Not you.” Charles sat up properly, their fingers still interlaced, as Artie popped up in front of them. When that same image of Erik and Charles embracing appeared over Artie's head, this time with a question mark next to it, Charles waved his free hand dismissively. 

“Yes, you were right. No need to rub it in.” 

The question mark evaporated, replaced by a simple child's drawing of a house. 

“I think so,” Charles answered, glancing sideways at Erik. “Shall we?” 

Erik nodded, chest swelling with relief. “Let's go home.” 

~ 

“My feet are soaking wet,” Charles complained, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he kicked his boots off. “Those puddles in the tunnels are deeper than they look.” 

“And whose fault is that?” 

“Yours,” Charles replied without missing a beat. “And the bottoms of my pants are soaked through, too.” He lifted his foot to roll up the cuff, and when he started to list to one side, Erik put a hand on his elbow to hold him up. 

“Why bother? You're just going to take them off anyway,” Erik observed. “That dampness will stay with you all day if you don't run a hot bath.” 

Charles finished rolling up the other cuff and glanced up at him. “Will you be joining me?” 

Erik trailed his fingers down Charles' forearm, bringing Charles' wrist up to place a kiss just above his pulse. “I'm not letting you out of my sight this weekend.” 

A small smile played at Charles' lips, and he brought his arms around Erik's shoulders to draw him closer. “Afraid I'll run off again?” 

“No.” Erik paused as they shared a brief, soft kiss. “Because I don't plan on taking you for granted again.” 

“Good.” Charles leaned in for another kiss, seeking access to Erik's mouth with his tongue, and Erik let him, giving Charles the chance to decide how far he wanted to take the moment until he felt a light tug at the collar of his t-shirt. 

“Take this off,” Charles murmured. 

“You first.” 

Charles obediently lifted his arms, allowing Erik to tug his shirt over his head before removing his own. This time, Erik didn't hesitate, claiming Charles' mouth with his and revelling in the taste of him. It had been so long since they'd been close like this, and he had no one to blame but himself. Why had he ever chosen Shaw over this? Over _him_? 

Charles offered the mental equivalent of a smirk and hooked a finger into Erik's waistband to lead him towards the bathroom. _Come and make it up to me, then_. 

Erik curved an arm around Charles' waist to bring him closer, dipping his head to graze Charles' throat with his teeth, simultaneously edging them down the hall as Charles' breath hitched in response. As they passed the bedrooms, Erik couldn't help but catch a glimpse of the mess of papers he'd left behind on Charles' old bed, and for a second he remembered just how close he'd been to--

“Erik.”

“Hmm?” 

“You know I can read your mind.” Charles stopped in the bathroom doorway, fingers tracing the scar bisecting Erik's torso. When Erik didn't answer, Charles sighed and leaned back against the door frame. “What if I helped you find him?” 

Erik blinked. “You would do that?” 

“On one condition.”

“Name it.” 

Charles tilted his head, regarding him carefully. “Give me today. I'll work with you on this tomorrow, after school next week, whatever. But give me this one day without him hanging over our heads.” 

Erik nodded. “That's more than fair.” 

“I'm glad you agree.” Charles stepped back into Erik's waiting arms and resumed tracing that same scar, his fingers travelling ever lower until they grazed the tip of Erik's growing erection. 

A small moan escaped Erik's lips as he arched against Charles' hand. “You keep doing that and I'll have no problem forgetting—ohhh don't stop--” 

Charles only flashed him a mischievous grin. “That's the idea.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second upload attempt, because the first one decided my entire chapter was in italics? I mean, there are a lot of italics, but still. Also, I have no home internet right now! So even though I am actually almost finished writing this (say what??), it'll be awhile until it all makes it online. Thank you for continuing to read, and for all of your wonderful feedback!

Charles' mood was significantly better at school that Monday, and when he sat down at his usual table in the cafeteria, Raven was the first to notice the change. 

“Why Charles,” she proclaimed in a mock southern accent, “You are positively glowing! I take it you and Erik made up?” 

Charles blushed furiously, which only added to Raven's amusement. “I'll take that as a yes.” 

Alex dropped into the seat across from Charles and tugged Darwin, who was engrossed in yet another video game, down beside him. “What's the word?” He squinted at Charles' neck and raised an eyebrow. “Is that a hickey?” 

“No.” Charles hastily tugged his shirt collar up higher. 

“Really? Because it looks like one to me.” 

“You'd be the expert,” Darwin chimed in, eyes still on his screen.

“Where are Sean and Hank?” Charles cut in, attempting to change the subject. Thankfully, it actually worked. 

“Sean's got swim practice, and Hank's up in the third floor lab again,” Alex answered. 

“He's been spending a lot of time up there.” 

“Tell me about it,” Raven muttered. 

Charles shot her a curious look. “Are you and Hank...” 

“No. Yes. I don't know.” She threw up her hands in defeat. “He spends more time on his science projects than with me—hold on.” She swivelled around to face him, crossing one leg over the other. “Your boyfriend pretty much pulled the same thing on you. How did you get him pay attention to you?” 

“I, um,” Charles dropped his eyes to the table. “I might have told him off and walked out.” That was the short version, at least. “We did talk it out after, though.” 

Raven smirked. “Is that all you did, was talk?”

“I don't see how that's your business.” 

“I do,” Alex jumped in, but Raven waved him off. 

“Maybe you've got the right idea. If I have to raise my my voice to get Hank's attention, then maybe I should.” 

“Why don't you try visiting him in the lab? Take an interest in what he's doing,” Charles suggested. “I've been helping Erik with his...project, and it's been mutually beneficial.” 

“I'm terrible at biology, you know that. Especially without you around to help me.” 

“I'm here now,” Charles pointed out/ “And you passed last semester just fine without me.” 

“Yeah, because I had Hank,” Raven countered. “And now I need your help to get him back.” 

“So you want me to tutor you again, not to further your education but for the sake of your love life?” 

Raven shrugged. “Doing a little more than just passing bio would be a bonus.” 

“A bonus,” Charles echoed wryly. 

Alex interrupted their banter with a loud sigh. “Will you just say yes so that we don't have to listen to her moon over Hank anymore?” 

Raven shot him a look, but Alex ignored it. “Plus, it's been forever since we've all hung out together. So, my place after school or homework and Mario Kart?” 

“I've got my Switch in my bag,” Darwin offered.” 

“Of course you do.” Raven rolled her eyes. “I'm in. Charles?” 

When he hesitated, she added, “Come on. You've been cooped up with your new boyfriend for months. I'm sure you can handle one evening apart.” 

It couldn't hurt, Charles supposed. It wasn't as if he was a captive anymore. Besides, if Erik could spend his evenings hunting Shaw, Charles could have one night with his friends. As if on cue, his phone vibrated in his pants pocket. Charles pulled it out and opened the message. 

_Following a lead. Going to be late getting home._

Excellent timing. Charles typed a quick text back. _All good, going to a friend's place after school._

A few seconds passed, then, _LMK if you want dinner later. I'll grab takeout on the way home._

“Charles.” 

He glanced up at the sound of his name, and found his sister watching him. “You're not ditching, are you?” 

Charles shook his head and put his phone back in his pocket. “It looks like I'm entirely free tonight.” 

“Great.” Alex reclined in his seat, one arm draped over the back of Darwin's chair. “I'll grab Sean later and we can all meet at my car in the parking lot.” 

How bizarre, Charles thought, the way they were together – making plans and talking about boys and classes and video games. He could almost believe that he was living an ordinary life. Only a few more months, and they'd all be going their separate ways. Charles was Oxford bound, of course, Alex and Darwin had plans for NYU, and Raven and Sean would be entering their senior year. And Hank? MIT, maybe. With his intellect, he'd have his pick of schools. 

Charles pushed down the growing anxiety in his chest and nodded along with whatever Alex and Darwin were talking about now. He had now idea what the future would hold next week, let alone after graduation, but for now, he'd take what he could get. 

~

_“Everything I did, I did for you. To unlock your power. To make you embrace it.” Shaw shoved Erik backwards, sending him sprawling against the glassy, paneled wall that surrounded them. “I never wanted to hurt you, Erik. But if you won't stand with me, then I have no further use for you.”_

_Erik reached out a hand ripping metal pillars from within the walls in front of him to block Shaw's path, but Shaw shoved them out of the way as though they weighed nothing and closed the distance between them._

_“I am truly sorry for this, Erik,” Shaw removed Erik's helmet and let it drop from his fingers before gripped Erik's skull in his hands. Then, without preamble, he twisted, hard, and let Erik's lifeless body slump to the floor._

_“Now,” Shaw dusted off his hands and turned around. “Whatever will I do with you?”_

“No!” Charles jolted awake, trying and failing to wrench himself free whoever was gripping his shoulders, fingers pressing through fabric into skin. 

“Charles! Charles, hey,” Cerulean skin punctuated by yellow cat's eyes swam into view and Charles blinked several times, trying to focus. What was Raven doing here? Where was Erik? This wasn't their bed--

“I need you to calm down. We're still at Alex's place, remember? You're okay. You're safe.” 

Had he said all of that out loud? He dropped his hands to his lap and Raven released him, visibly relaxing as she settled back against the arm of...of the couch. That he'd been sleeping on, because he was, in fact, still in Alex's house. The snowstorm, expected to hit overnight, had arrived hours early and trapped him here, along with Raven, Darwin, and Sean, who was now sitting up on the air mattress on the floor next to them. 

“I'm sorry.” Charles pulled his knees to his chest and rubbed his eyes. “I forgot where I was for a moment. I'm fine.” 

Raven's yellow eyes bored into his. “Are you sure? You told me the nightmares had stopped.” 

Another glance at Sean, who took the hint and laid back down, rolling onto his side to face away from them. 

“They have, since Erik and I--” Charles shook his head. “This one wasn't about Kurt.” I never wanted to hurt you, Erik. “Look, I said I'm fine. Go back to sleep.” 

Raven frowned, bow creasing in concern, but got up and padded around Sean to the opposite couch. “If you need anything, she told him, pulling the blanket up over her body, “you wake me up.” 

Once he was certain both Raven and Sean were asleep, Charles silently folded up his own quilt and slipped out of the living room, careful to sidestep Sean on the floor as he headed for the kitchen down the hall. He wouldn't be able to sleep again tonight, and Alex's parents kept a very well stocked pantry that included a variety of tea flavours, some of which Charles had never even heard of. 

His bag was still sitting in the foyer with the others, and Charles picked it up on his way, fishing his phone out of the front pocket as he turned the light on over the stove. Not bright enough to wake anyone else, but enough for him to see what he was doing. 

Alex's kitchen was double the size of Erik's, but still smaller than the one at Charles' estate. He had to stand on his toes to reach the boxes of tea in one of the other cupboards, simultaneously checking the time on his phone. 4:37. At least three more hours until the others woke up for school His thumb hovered over the messaging icon for a moment, but he pursed his lips together and left the device sitting on the counter to fill the kettle. 

While he waited for the water to boil, Charles picked up his phone again, this time going so far as to actually write a message. 

_Awake?_ He hesistated only briefly, and then tapped the send button before he could change his mind. The response came almost instantly.

_Yes. You ok?_

_Fine. Can't sleep. Bad dreams._

_Kurt?_

God, he was so sick of hearing (or reading) that name. Almost as sick as he was of-- _Shaw._

There was a long pause after that, and Charles took the opportunity to pour the now boiling water into a white mug emblazoned with a faded Jolly Roger flag. Just as he sat down at the little island splitting the room down the middle, his phone lit up again. 

_Want me to come and get you?_

Charles pulled one leg up onto the seat of his stool, bare toes curling over the edge, and rested his forehead against his knee, inhaling deeply through his nose. He did want to go home, but disappearing in the middle of the night would be more trouble than it was worth. He sighed heavily and lifted his head to type another message. 

_I'll stay. Besides, buses aren't running now, and you don't have a car._

_Any vehicle can be yours if you control metal._

Charles snorted and took a sip of his tea. _You'd steal a car just to pick me up at 5 am? That's oddly endearing._

_Is that a yes?_

He smiled, in spite of himself. _No. Raven won't let me hear the end of it if I disappear._

_Let me keep you company, then._

_Aren't you tired?_

_No._ A lie, Charles knew, but he appreciated the sentiment. _Tell me what you're thinking about._

_Okay._ Another sip of tea, and another text. _Why do you only speak German when we're in bed?_

A long pause, then, _Is that really what you're thinking about right now?_

Charles rested his cheek against his thigh. It was nearly five in the morning, he couldn't sleep, and frankly, he wasn't thinking about much of anything except staying awake. 

_It isn't -not- what I'm thinking about._

Surprisingly, Erik actually took the question seriously. _I grew up speaking German with my parents. Emma trained the accent out of me a few years back._

_The more you know._

_Apparently I revert to my native tongue when I'm less...inhibited._ A second text followed: _But you find that “oddly endearing” as well, liebling._

_Ha. You've got me there._ Charles yawned and sent another message. _Tell me something else about you. Something no one else knows._

_You already know everything about my past._

_Nothing that heavy. Just...something real._

Charles waited patiently, watching the three dots on his screen bubble up in time with Erik's typing. 

_I like trains. All that metal in motion, the steel tracks beneath...I don;t know. I guess I find it almost peaceful, in a way. That's why I take the subway instead of getting a car._

_I've never ridden the subway._

_Really?_

Charles' eyelids started to droop, and he found himself yawning again as he replied. His eyes closed fully, and he hear his phone beep as if from far away as he drifted off to sleep. 

~

Charles woke to the sound of dishes clattering and muffled laughter behind him. He sat up slowly, stretching out his spine and dropping the knee he'd been leaning on as he rubbed his face with his hands. 

“He is risen!” 

Charles twisted around on the stool to find Darwin grinning at him, one hand snaked around Alex's waist while the other held a freshly brewed cup of coffee. The aroma of the ark roast blend that Alex favoured filled Charles' nose, clearing the residual drowsiness blurring his senses. 

“Couch not good enough for you?” Alex teased, but the worry written across his expression betrayed the lightness of his tone. 

“I couldn't sleep,” Charles admitted. “I made myself a—where's my tea?” 

“I dumped the rest of it down the drain.” Alex shrugged. “It was cold anyway.” 

“Thanks.” Charles slid off the stool and grabbed his phone. There were two unread messages waiting for him. Apparently he'd never actually sent that last one, either. 

_Charles?_

_Good night._

He sent Erik a quick reply as he accepted the coffee that Alex was offering him. It wasn't exactly his cup of tea, literally and figuratively, but he had a feeling he'd need the caffeine boost this morning. It was going to be a long day. 

~

First and second period dragged, and Charles has to repeatedly stifle his yawns during a long and unnecessary review of the quadratic formula. He might have gone straight to the library at lunch and claimed one of the couches for a quick nap if his sister wasn't already waiting at his locker, a request already poised at the forefront of her mind. 

“No,” he told her, stacking his textbooks neatly on the top shelf of his locker. 

“You don't even know what I was going to ask!” 

Charles tapped his left temple as he slammed the door shut. “Telepath.” 

“Rude.” She crossed her arms and leaned her shoulder against his locker door. “Can you just check up on him? It'll be like, five minutes out of your life.” 

“Why don't you just go yourself?” Charles countered. “Isn't that why I was tutoring you yesterday?” 

She tucked a stray blonde hair behind her ear as she spoke. “I just...I'm really worried about him. And Hank will talk to you before he talks to me.” 

So much for his nap. “Alright, but you owe me.” 

“You're the best!” Raven gave him a quick hug and took off down the crowded hallway, undoubtedly towards the cafeteria. 

Charles tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling for a long moment. Then he turned and headed for the nearest stairwell, making the long trek up the third floor. 

Hank didn't look up as Charles let himself into the lab, too absorbed in whatever he was examining under his microscope to notice that he was no longer alone. 

“Hank? The others sent me to see if you want to join us for lunch.” A half truth, but good enough. “You haven't been down in ages.” 

Hank mumbled something that sounded vaguely like an acknowledgement as Charles crossing the room, stopping to examine the cluster of open notebooks strewn across a nearby lab bench. He looked at them askance to read Hank's scribbles, eyes widening in shock as he realized exactly what Hank had been working on all this time. 

“Is this what I think it is?” Charles held up the book that had caught his attention and Hank finally turned around, noticing him for the first time When he recognized the notebook in Charles' hand, he was off his stool in a flash and snatching it away, clutching the book protectively to his chest. 

“That's private.” 

“Trying to cure your mutation is private?” Charles glared at him. “What if the wrong people get their hands on their research. The ramifications this could have are massive.” There was a little bit of Erik leaking into his tone, the attitude that humans always had the worst intentions for mutantkind, but Charles had no intention of reining it in. Hank needed to understand that what he was doing was wrong. 

“It won't fall into the wrong hands, Charles,” Hank sounded almost tired, as if he was expecting this kind of argument. “And who are you to criticize? You're not a mutant. You have no idea what this is like.” 

_Actually, Hank, I do._ He knew what it was like to have his powers forcibly repressed, to be treated as less than he was, and he wouldn't allow anyone else to feel the same if he could help it. 

“Seriously? Telepathy? You should be thankful you don't have these.” Hank kicked off his shoes, revealing massive, hairy feet and flexed preternaturally prehensile toes. When they were fully spread out, it almost appeared as though Hank had a set of hands for feet. 

Charles had to stop himself from laughing out loud, not because of Hank's feet, but because he was hiding them. “That's it? That's your big, scary secret?” Charles crossed his arms. “You know there are those who can't even touch another person because their mutation is so severe?”

“Exactly!” Hank opened his palms to Charles in supplication. “If this works, think of how many others could benefit from this.. Not everyone can be proud of being a mutant, Charles.” 

“But you can, Hank. Those feet are as much a part of you as that amazing mind of yours.”

“Easy for you to say,” Hank shot back. “You're mutation is invisible.” 

Charles only stared at him.”You,” he said slowly, enunciating each syllable as he spoke, “Have no idea what I've endured.” 

“Likewise.” Hank sat down again, and returned his attention to the microscope. “I'll see you in class.”

Charles stood there for a few more seconds, entire body vibrating with too many emotions to untangle, before exiting the lab and deliberately slamming the door behind him. 

He hurtled down the stairs, holding the railing as he took each corner to the next flight, mind racing faster than his feet. A cure for mutation went against everything he had come to terms with these past months. Erik had removed his inhibitor and taught him not to hate and fear who he truly was. And what if Trask Industries, the company that made his inhibitor, got wind of this cure? How many children like Charles would be forced to take it? How many parents would take it while their child was still in the womb, depriving their children of a choice--

Charles rounded the next corner too fast and slammed right into the person coming up the stairs, sending a calculus textbook skidding across the landing. 

“Sorry, let me get that,” he went after the book, picking it up and dusting it off before he handed it back to the very last person he wanted to see right now. “Um. Sorry. I should go,” he mumbled. 

Moira took the textbook from him, tucking it into the crook of her arm as she took in his disheveled appearance. “Charles, listen--” 

“I really should be going,” he insisted, attempting to move around her, but she stepped into his path. 

“Look, I don't want things to be awkward between us,” she began. “We've dated for two years, and we were friends long before that. Can't we be friends again now?

Charles shifted uncomfortably. She had him cornered, trapped between two flights of stairs, and she knew it. A quick scan of Moira's mind told him that she actually meant what she was saying, which struck him as a little strange, considering the circumstances of their breakup. 

“You're not angry with me?” Charles asked. “I mean I did sort of cheat on you.” 

Moira's expression clouded for a moment, but she shook her head and offered him a knowing half smile. “I was, at first,” she admitted. “But we were over long before then. I realize that now. And looking back ,the fact that we were together for that long and you never once tried to get into my pants should have clued me in to your lack of interest in girls.” 

Charles felt his cheeks warm, and Moira laughed. “It's fine,” she reassured him. “Anyone with half a brain can tell that you're much happier with him than with me. Maybe now I can find my happiness, too.” 

Charles' shoulders sagged, as though a weight had been lifted from them. And in a way, he supposed, it had. “I never deserved you.”

“No,” she agreed, but there was no malice in her tone. “You deserved better.” She gave him a quick hug and started back up the stairs. “See you around, Charles.” 

He watched her leave, a little dazed, a little bewildered, but mostly relieved, before continuing his descent to the cafeteria. He really didn't want to interact with anyone else today, but maybe a little normalcy with his friends would do him good. 

~

 

The rest of the day ran more smoothly than the morning. He'd been brief with Raven, telling her only that Hank was studying mutation and genomes, and recounting his run-in with Moira in as little detail as possible. With only fifteen minutes until next period, Raven and Alex barely had time to ask all of their usual prodding questions before the bell rang. 

Both science classes ran their course without incident, and neither Hank nor Charles mention their earlier altercation. Instead, they focused entirely on the current lab assignment, and completed it with time to spare. After the final bell, Raven caught up to Charles in the halls and looped her arm through his, chattering away about some gossip in her World History class as they pushed through the front doors. Charles wasn't really listening, instead letting Raven's voice join the cacophony of white noise flooding his senses courtesy of the crowds of students milling about, until she stopped suddenly, tightening her grip on his arm. 

He felt his mother's vodka soaked mind before he saw her, already at least three martinis deep and leaning against the Rolls Royce like Curella De Vil herself in a massive white fur coat and dark sunglasses. 

“What is she doing here?” Raven's nose wrinkled in distaste. 

Sharon Xavier, meanwhile, tapped her cigarette out, letting it hang limply from her gloved fingers as she surveyed the school grounds, and Charles tugged Raven back inside and away from the doors before they were spotted. Of course this had to happen today. Of course she had to show up after he'd already dealt with Hank and Moira, and he hadn't had a full night's sleep, and he just wanted to be home with Erik. 

“She's come to collect me, I expect.” 

“Are you going to let her?” 

“Nope.” 

Raven released the breath she'd been holding. “What's the plan, then? She's directly on our route to the bus stop.” 

Charles tapped two fingers to his temple. “We're going to walk right past her.” 

Raven grinned and, glancing around to make sure they were alone, she shifted from her usual blonde haired, blue eyed form into a petite brunette with cafe au lait skin and dark, almond shaped eyes. “Let's do it.” 

True to his word, Charles and Raven walked right past an oblivious Sharon Xavier, Raven wearing a different face and Charles simply omitting himself from his mother's perception. Neither removed their respective illusions until they were safely on the bus and sitting all the way in the back to avoid unwanted attention while Raven shifted back into her preferred form. 

“That. Was awesome,” Raven declared, tossing her now golden blonde hair behind her shoulder. “What else can you do?” 

Charles only shrugged. “You have your tricks, I have mine.” 

“How very cryptic of you.” Raven wiggled her eyebrows at him, but Charles didn't bother to indulge her, still preoccupied with the fact that he'd narrowly missed having to deal with his mother. 

“Why is she showing up now?” Charles mused, partially to himself. “I've been back for over a week, she's had plenty of chances.” 

“Maybe she was just waiting for a day when she was the least hungover,” Raven drawled. “But hey, you dodged a bullet. Don't worry about it.” 

“She'll be back.”

“Will she, though?” 

Raven did have a point. “The real question is, after a few more drinks, will she even remember that she wanted to see me?” 

Raven nodded emphatically. “Exactly. You're probably fine.” She stood up and rang the bell for her stop. “See you tomorrow, Charles.” 

“See you,” he echoed, moving his legs sideways so she could get out. Probably. 

~

Erik was watching what looked like last night's news when Charles got home, but whatever he saw in Charles' face was enough to propel him of the couch and over to Charles before Charles had finished kicking his boots off. 

“I hate winter,” Charles grumbled. “Too much snow. Too many layers. And why the bloody hell has no one salted the front steps?” 

_You love the snow, and you live for warm sweaters and cardigans_. Out loud, Erik only asked, “Bad day?” 

Charles groaned and, dropping his satchel to the floor, decided that standing currently took far more effort than it was worth. His forehead thumped lightly against Erik's chest, arms limp at his sides, as he let himself fall forward. 

“I am extremely done with this day.” 

Erik's arms closed around Charles' drawing him into a much needed hug, and, little by little, Charles felt himself relax. His shoulder dropped, his posture loosened, and his hands unclenched and rose to encircle Erik's waist. Even his mind, still processing the day's events, seemed to uncurl like a cat and stretch, whiskers to tail, before twining itself with Erik's, as easily as holding hands. He let Erik see everything, from his argument with Hank, to Moira cornering him in the stairwell, to his mother waiting outside after school. 

"I really don't miss high school."

Charles pulled back just enough to look up at him. “I'm fairly certain that these are not ordinary high school problems.” 

“Why does your friend even want to cure himself?” Erik helped Charles out of his coat and crooked his finger, beckoning the hall closet open. A metal hanger floated over and ferried Charles' coat away while the pair settled on the couch, Charles' head resting against Erik's shoulder. “They're just feet. There are mutants like the Morlocks that can't even be around humans without being threatened.” 

“Yes, well. He seems to think he's some kind of abomination.” 

“Perhaps I should talk to him.” 

“Please don't.” 

“Kidding,” Erik smirked, his eyes back on the television. “Mostly.” 

Charles followed Erik's gaze to the television, which was, as he suspected, a recorded version of lat night's broadcast, and then to the map laid out on the coffee table. This one was different from the one in the spare room; it was only of the United States, and there were seven or eight cities at least starred in red Sharpie. 

“Did the Argentina lead fall through?” Charles asked. Over the weekend, they'd managed to track Shaw first to Switzerland, and then to a small villa in Argentina, where the trail had gone cold. When Charles had left for school yesterday, Erik had planned to investigate further. 

“I think he's back in the States,” Erik picked up the remote on the armrest and hit the pause button, just as the photos of six children flashed onto the screen. “Kids are going missing. Mutants, all under sixteen, all just coming into their powers. And look,” he said, gesturing towards the map, “the pattern of disappearances is almost a perfect circle.” 

Charles sat up and leaned forward to take a closer look. “A perfect trap, is more like it,” he observed. “Has it occurred to you that Shaw wants to be found?” 

“That's a risk I'm willing to take.” 

“Well, that makes one of us.” Before Erik could reply, Charles put a finger to the black Sharpie dot in the centre of the circle. “What is this?” 

“The Massachusetts Academy. Supposedly, it's a school for mutants.” 

“What a brilliant concept.” Charles' brain was already spinning fantasies of a place where mutants could learn and grow together, no longer outcasts but a community—until he caught Erik staring at him. “Or it would be, if if wasn't a cover for Shaw's base of operations?” Charles offered meekly. 

Erik cleared his throat. “I didn't want to tell you after the day you've had.” 

“But you're going to Boston,” Charles finished. The desire to murder Shaw had begun to saturate Erik's emotions, and Charles actually backed out of his mind to keep himself from drowning in it. He knew that this was the end game, that Erik had always had a one track mind when it came to Shaw, but until now, Charles hadn't really entertained the possibility of Erik leaving to chase his revenge. 

Erik covered Charles' hand with his own. “I won't be long. A day, maybe two at most.” 

“And if you don't come back, what then? I'll never know, will I? I'll just be sitting here, waiting for you to walk through that door, and meanwhile you could be mm--” 

Erik cut Charles off wit ha swift, crushing kiss, and Charles, still reeling, clutched at him like a lifeline.

_Don't do this._

_I have to._

_I'm coming with you._

They broke apart, breathless, and Erik shook his head. “No, you're not.” 

“You need backup,” Charles argued. “And you wanted to face him together, when you first removed my inhibitor. When you saw what I could do.” 

Erik looked away. “That was before.” 

“Before what?” When Erik didn't answer, Charles persisted. “Erik. Before what?” 

“Before I figured out that I'm in love with you, and have been since the day I came home and you asked for my wi-fi password, and if Shaw got his claws in you I would lose my goddamn mind.” Then, when he noticed Charles staring at him, “What?” 

“That's the first time you've told me. Out loud, anyway,” Charles amended. 

“Well yeah, I mean,” Erik ran a hand through his hair. “I didn't think I really had to, given that you know me better than I know myself.” 

Charles was silent for a moment, considering, and then broke out into a sly smile. 

“I'll wait for you,” Charles allowed, “on one condition.” 

“Anything.” _To keep you safe_. 

The unspoken words reverberated through Charles' own mind, filling him with warmth. “Tell me again.” 

“I love you.” Erik punctuated the admonition with a kiss. 

“Again.” 

“I love you.” another kiss. “I love you, and I will go to the roof and tell all of New York if you'll stay here until I get back.” 

“I love you,” Charles said, carding his fingers through Erik's hair as he stole one more kiss, “and if you don't come back in one piece, I'll hunt Shaw down myself and tear his murderous, child torturing, Neo Nazi mind to shreds myself.” 

“I love you,” Erik repeated, and affirmation, a promise. “And I'll come back to you.” 

“You'd better.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh....I apologize in advance for this chapter >.> Also this one is pretty long because there's a lot happening. More from me at the end!

It was five hours by train to Boston, and Erik spent the entire time on his phone. Charles was in school, of course, but he still returned Erik's texts under his desk through second period, during lunch (much to the annoyance of his friends, apparently), and sporadically during his afternoon classes. They talked about nothing, and everything, from Charles' teachers and their quirks, to Raven still worrying over Hank, to dinner plans for the weekend. What intrigued Erik the most was that Hank had asked Raven for a sample of her blood, which she had freely given, grateful that he was finally paying attention to her. The boy seemed to think that the mutable nature o her cells was the key to the cure he so desperately sought. Erik was no biologist, but Charles had quite a few theories on the subject. 

Charles was out of school just after Erik's train pulled in to the station in Boston, his departure accompanied by a two word text. 

_Fuck me._

Erik had to bite his tongue to keep from grinning as he hailed a cab, helmet stashed in the bag slung over his shoulder. _I plan to, when I get back. And thoroughly._ In his mind's eye, he could see Charles blushing furiously. 

_My mother's back. Same place, same time, am ridiculous fur coat._

Erik gave the cab driver the address of the Massachusetts Academy while he replied. _You might as well find out what she wants._

_Or I could avoid her again._

_For the rest of the semester?_

A pause, probably an audible sigh on Charles' end, and then a return text. _I hate it when you're right._

_Good luck_ , Erik wrote back. _I'm almost here. Text you after._ As if he was only running a quick errand. And it would be quick, Erik thought, even though Shaw didn't deserve that courtesy, because he had someone waiting for him at home. 

The Massachusetts Academy appeared, at least on the outside, to be just another pretentious Ivy League prep school. It was nearly as old as Charles' estate, with a longer driveway and taller gates. Erik peeled them back with little effort and walked through the mangled iron bars, taking out his helmet and settling it on her head as he did. It was more habit than necessity, he was certain that Shaw would appreciate the irony of the gesture. 

He strode up the driveway, and, having traded his usual charcoal peacoat for a longer, pitch black trench coat, it billowed behind him, casting a lengthy shadow that almost resembled a flowing cape. If this was a trap, then so be it, he thought to himself, commanding the front doors open with a wave of his hand. They slammed shut in his wake, loud enough to alert anyone who might be in the building to his presence. 

The hallways were completely vacant, a veritable ghost town, and every classroom that Erik passed was empty as well. There were no lights on, chairs were put up on tables, and the blackboards were all clean and unused. He made it to the end of the hall and climbed the south stairwell, gloved fingers trailing through a layer of dust coating the oak banister, and was greeted with the same scene as below. Still, he peeked in the windows of every classroom door, finding only more of the same, until, from somewhere deeper in the building, the soft murmur of an unmistakably female voice echoed down the hall. 

As Erik followed its sound, he picked up a slight British accent tingeing the voice he'd heard, one acquired from etiquette training rather than ancestry, and he stopped short just before he reached the final classroom. The door was already open, light pouring out into the hallway just shy of where Erik stood. 

“As you are aware, Lady Macbeth is often hailed as the true root of Macbeth's evil, yet she never speaks of her own gain. Even when she becomes queen, when it seems she should be happy with what she's achieved, she takes her own life. Is she truly a woman with her own agency and desires, or is she simply trapped by fate to propel the plot forward before meeting her end?” Emma turned to face Erik, now standing in the doorway, his eyes darting from her to the rows of glassy eyed mutant children sitting at their desks. He recognized all of them from the news reports he'd reviewed the day before.

Emma offered him a sly, knowing smile. “So good of you to join us, sugar.” She gestured to an empty desk near the window. “Why don't you sit down? I'm sure you could contribute something to our discussion regarding the Lady Macbeth.” 

“I may know a thing or two about ambition and deception,” Erik retorted. 

Emma looked at him askance, considering. “Does that make you or Sebastian Macbeth?” 

Erik gritted his teeth. He wasn't going to waste time playing her games. “Let the children go.” 

“Take off your helmet.” When Erik didn't answer, she smirked. “No? Then I think I'll keep them. I've grown rather fond of them, to be honest. Especially this one.” She nodded towards a dark haired boy in the front row. “He's a fighter. A survivor, like you.” 

Erik thrust out a hand and tore the radiator from the far wall, sending it flying straight at Emma's head. Instinctively, she shifted from flesh to diamond, her skin becoming crystalline and unbreakable, and raised her arms in an X shape to block the impact. Thee moment she shifted, her captives began to wake from their stupor, some bleary and confused, while others leapt from their seats in a panic. 

“Out!” Erik barked at them. “Now!” 

The children scrambled out from their seats and fled the room, a few nodding their thanks as they passed Erik, but most kept their heads down as they fled. When Emma, still in her diamond form, recovered and stalked towards them, Erik flung one of the desks into her path. Its metal legs curled around her body, pinning her arms to her sides, and she dropped to her knees, leaning her weight on the front of the desk while Erik knelt before her. 

“Where is he?” 

“Not here.” Emma struggled against her bonds, but she couldn't find the right leverage to break free. 

Erik smiled grimly and reached out behind him. There was a loud creak as the leg from a nearby chair pried itself free and shot towards them, hovering just before Emma's face. 

“Where. Is. He.”

“That depends.” Emma made a show of glancing down at her wrist where a watch might have been. “Is Charles home from school yet?” 

Erik's fingers closed into a fist and the metal bar slammed against Emma's larynx, knocking the breath from her lungs and wrapping around her throat. Her diamond exterior cracked as Erik tightened his grip on the metal, but he only watched her, waiting, until Emma collapsed into her own kin once more, relinquishing her diamond form and gasping for air. 

Erik let the chair leg clatter to the floor and reached into his coat pocket as he spoke. “You're going to tell me what I need to know, and in exchange, I won't use this.” 

He opened his hand to reveal a microchip inhibitor, the very same one that he'd removed from Charles' brain. Emma squinted at it, her expression morphing from recognition to bemusement. 

“Why do you still have that?” 

“Clearly,” Erik answered levelly, “it's come in handy. I won't ask again.” 

Emma rolled her eyes. “You always were one for theatrics. If you haven't figured it out, darling, I'm not the trap. I'm the decoy.” 

“Tell me something I don't know.” 

Emma coughed sharply and cleared her throat. “Remember when you called me, begging me to fix your sweetheart's poor, overloaded mind? Shaw asked me to insert a kill switch into his psyche. A simple word or phrase that would shut Charles and his telepathy down the moment he heard it. In fact,” she continued, almost offhandedly, “Riptide's probably intercepting Charles in your apartment right now.” 

Actually, he probably wasn't, Erik realized, because Charles had taken a detour to reconnect with his mother. There was a chance Erik could still catch him before he made it home, but that didn't mean he was would let Emma go without retribution. He stood up, dusting off his pants, and let the inhibitor float its way to the back of Emma's neck. She shied away from it instinctively, but without the strength of her diamond form, she was trapped in place. 

“Wait. Wait!” The chip paused in its course, just grazing the back of her neck, and Emma sighed in relief. “I didn't do it.” 

Erik remained still, waiting. 

“He was just so vibrant. So real. You know he's actually envisioned a better future for mutants? Not like Shaw's ambitions, or yours, for mutant supremacy. Something actually better.” She stared down at the floor as she spoke. “I couldn't let Shaw take all of that away.” 

Erik recalled the chip to the palm of his hand. “If anything's happened to him, I will hunt you to the ends of the earth, and make what Shaw did to me back then look like child's play.” He turned, coat swirling behind him, and strode from the room. 

“I gave him a chance, Erik!” she called after him. “What more do you want?” 

_I want him alive, and safe, and as far away from Shaw as possible._ Outside, he raced down the driveway, cursing it's ridiculous length, and flagged another cab. The driver was dragged out by the chains he wore around his neck and tossed to the side, and Erik took his place at the wheel. He could only hope that he wouldn't be too late. 

~

_You might as well find out what she wants._

_Or I could avoid her again._

Charles sighed heavily. _I hate it when you're right._

_Good luck._ Then, _I'm almost there. Text you after._

Charles paused, thumbs poised over the keyboard, but decided not to reply. He'd be fine, Charles told himself. A quick in and out, and home before Charles had time to miss him. 

Beside him, Raven tapped her foot impatiently. “So? What's the verdict?” 

Charles put his phone in his pocked and straightened his coat. If Erik could face off against Shaw, he could talk to his mother. 

“I'm doing it.” 

Raven's eyes widened in surprise. “Really?” 

“I won't spend the rest of my life hiding from her.” He squared his shoulders and, pushing the front doors wide open, stepped into the too bright winter sunlight. 

“Alright, but you have to tell me everything tomorrow,” Raven said, following him outside. 

“You know I will.” 

Charles walked briskly towards the Rolls Royce before he could take back his decision. She wasn't drunk, Charles noticed, because she actually saw him coming and flicked her cigarette to the ground, crushing it under her boot, but she wasn't entirely sober, either. Charles kept an arm's length of space between them and shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting while he spoke. 

“Mother.” 

She tilted her chin down, narrowing her eyes over the frames of her sunglasses. “Must you call me that? What happened to 'Mum'?” 

“I haven't called you that since grade school,” Charles replied airily. “Cut to the chase, Mother. What do you want?” 

“Always so impatient.” She sniffed and took a step to the left to allow access to the car's passenger door. “I've come to take you home. Obviously.” 

“And I'm not going with you, obviously,” Charles retorted. He moved to leave, but she touched a gloved hand to his shoulder. 

“Please, Charles,” he tone softened. “At least come and talk to me. I'm ready to listen.” 

Charles faced her once more and she dropped her hand, waiting. Was he imagining things, or did she actually seem a bit...desperate? Against his better judgement, he brushed against her mind, only a cursory scan but enough to find that she was really being sincere about her offer. Her thoughts were fuzzy around the edges with just enough drink to the guilt that had plagued her since Charles' disappearance. A part of Charles took immense satisfaction in the fact that she blamed herself for what had happened, but pleasure gave way to shame for letting it even cross his mind. He pulled back, shaking his head to clear the fog of secondhand inebriation from his mind. 

“Fine, we'll talk,” he conceded, certain he was going to regret this decision. “But I'm not going back to the house with you.” 

He breezed past her and opened the door of the Royce, sliding in to the far seat so that she could follow. Watching her try and maneuver that ridiculous fur coat into the car was almost comical, and had it been anyone else, he might have laughed aloud. Once she was finally settled, the driver pulled away from the school, heading towards the nearest intersection. 

“Look,” his mother began, “I know we've had our differences.” 

“Differences? Is that what you're calling it?” This time Charles did laugh, a sad, hollow sound. “You've been perpetually drunk since my father's funeral. The few times we've been in the same room, you either ignored at me, or screamed at me for something that wasn't my fault, and frankly, I'm not sure which is worse.” 

“I know.” Sharon took off her sunglasses and rubbed her eyes. “I've been a terrible parent to you, and a simple apology isn't going to cut it.” 

“Bloody right it isn't,” Charles muttered. 

“But when you disappeared, and even that girl--” 

“My sister.” 

“Your sister,” she amended, “didn't know where you were, I suppose I finally woke up and realized how miserable you must have been all this time, and how much of that was my fault.” 

Charles stared at her in disbelief. Absence really must make the heart grow fonder, because there was no other way to explain his mother's bizarre behaviour. 

“I know it's too little, too late,” she continued. “But I'd like to start over, if you're willing.” 

Charles slumped back in his seat. This was not what he'd expected from this conversation, but if she was ready to be completely honest and open with him, perhaps it was time he did the same. 

“Alright,” he began, and her face instantly lit up.

“You'll come home?” 

Charles shook his head without looking at her. “I'm not setting foot back in that house unless--” he broke off, suddenly uncertain. She'd never believed him before, and there was no reason for er to take him seriously now. 

“Unless what?” she pressed. 

Charles took a deep breath. “If you want me to come home, then Kurt and his son have to go. I'm not going back to being their personal punching bag.” 

Sharon opened her mouth, the denial already poised on her lips, but to Charles' complete and utter surprise, she stopped herself, her thoughts scattering and reforming into something else. 

“I didn't know,” she said quietly.

Charles twisted in his seat to face her, eyes flashing. “Jesus Christ, Mother, don't you think I tried to tell you? You always believed him over me. I told you about how Cain used to beat me up every day after school, about how Kurt would come to my room at night, drunk and full of rage and dragging me out of bed by my hair, about the cigarette burns on my arms and the scars on my back, and you. Didn't. Care.” 

He unbuttoned his coat, followed by the shirt underneath, and yanked his scarf out of the way to reveal the faded bruises and latticework of scars underneath. “Why do you think I wear long sleeves and layers, no matter the weather? Cardigans, sweaters, shirts buttoned to the throat, because I don't have a choice!” Charles exhaled through his nose and started to button his shirt back up. “I never had a choice, but I do now.” 

He leaned forward and rapped lightly against the partition, which rolled down to allow him to speak to the driver. “Could you drop me back at school, please? We're done here.” 

Sharon Xavier was silent for the rest of the short ride, the image of Charles' pale, scarred flesh seared into her mind as clearly as if Charles was seeing it in his own. He hadn't meant for any of that to happen, but if laying himself bare like that was the wake up call she needed, then so be it. 

“Can I call you?” she asked suddenly, as they pulled up to the front of the school. “I know you haven't answered me before, but I thought...you know...” 

Charles stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “If you like.” The exact kind off noncommittal, dismissive answer that he'd become accustomed to over the years. He slammed the door shut and waited for the Rolls Royce to disappear around the corner before he headed to the bus stop. The last thing he needed was for her to tail him and find out where he lived. 

It was funny, he thought as he walked, he had assumed that this confrontation would leave him feeling lighter, freer, even, the way he'd felt after speaking with Moira. Instead of relief, however, a tremor of apprehension coursed through him, and though he tried to ignore it, he couldn't shake the feeling that he hadn't so much dodged a bullet as delayed its impact for a little longer. 

~

There was someone in the apartment. Charles could sense their presence as soon as he stepped into the hallway on his floor and froze, two fingers flying almost unconsciously to his temple. It was a man, not Erik, but someone familiar. Someone he'd met before. Janos? Charles blinked and pressed deeper into Janos' mind as he approached the apartment. There, in the forefront of his thoughts, was a perfect rendering of Sebastian Shaw wearing a crisply tailored suit and a conniving, thin lipped smile. 

“Shit!” Charles halted only a few feet from his door and clapped a hand over his mouth. Boston, Charles realized suddenly, wasn't the trap. He snatched his phone from his coat pocket and speed dialed Erik. 

“Come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath. When there was no answer, he ended the call and tried again, only to be sent straight to voicemail. Inside the apartment, Janos was rising from the couch where he'd been waiting and strolling towards the front door. 

_Shit. Okay. Breathe, Charles. You can do this._

The door opened, and Janos was there, far more confident and self-assured than when Charles had last seen him. “Hello, Charles.” 

“I know who you are, and who sent you.” Charles kept his voice steady, despite the blood pounding in his ears. “You have one chance to walk away.” 

Janos only smirked. “Checkmate.” 

Charles frowned. He didn't know what he was expecting, but this wasn't it. “Excuse me?” 

“Checkmate,” Janos repeated, confusion souring his expression as he scrutinized Charles. “It should be working. Why isn't this working?” 

“What are you—you know what? Never mind. _Leave now, and don't come anywhere near me or Erik ever again._ In fact,” he added, “on further consideration, Get out of town. Start over somewhere else, anywhere but here, and don't come back.” 

Janos straightened and walked right past Charles without a backward glance, his movements rigid and mechanical. 

“Fantastic,” Charles said aloud, watching Janos leave. “That was relatively painless for both of us.” But I'm betting staying here is a terrible idea. He entered the apartment, selecting a different contact on his phone as he closed the door behind him, and Raven picked up on the second ring. 

“Done with your mommy dearest already? I want all the gory details.” 

Charles tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder to grab his laptop from the coffee table, and continued down the hall to retrieve his overnight bag from its new home beneath his and Erik's bed. “Hey, can I stay at your place tonight?” He hefted it onto his shoulder with his school bag, laptop now tucked safely inside as well as the usual change of clothes and toiletries. “Erik's still away, and um--” He took the phone back in his hand and switched ears to hurry back down the hall and out the door, locking it behind him. “I feel a bit weird being on my own.” 

“Of course!” He could almost hear her grinning over the phone. “Come on over. My moms are making dinner. I'll let them know to set a place for you.” 

“Thanks, Raven.” The phone beeped in his ear and Charles glanced at the screen to find that Erik was finally returning his calls. “I have to go, but I'll see you in a bit.” He ended the call and answered Erik's as he raced down the stairs. “Erik? Listen—no, I'm fine I'm fine,” he repeated impatiently. “Shaw sent Janos after me, but I took care of it. He didn't even put up a fight. Yes, that Janos. I'm going to stay with my sister tonight so that I don't get treated to any more surprise visits. Did you find Shaw?” 

“No.” Erik sounded so tired, and Charles couldn't blame him. This was all meant to be over by now. “Emma was waiting for me instead, with the missing children.” 

“Well, fuck,” were the first word out of Charles' mouth. The bus was just pulling up the stop, and he ran to catch it, gripping his phone tightly to keep from dropping it. “It seems you were right not to trust her. I assume you rescued the children.” 

“Yeah. Well, I think I scared them into making a run for it. But it gets better.” 

“Does it.” Charles slumped into a seat at the back of the bus, balancing both bags on his lap. 

“Shaw told Emma to put some kind of killswitch in your head to make you an easier target for Janos. A word, or something, that would essentially shut you down.” 

“Well, that explains why he just kept saying 'checkmate' instead of attacking.” Charles sighed and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So why am I still here?” 

“Because apparently you melted the ice queen's frozen heart,” Erik replied dryly. “She saw something worth saving in you, and she changed her mind.” 

“Jesus. Alright. Tell me you're on your way back.” 

“I'm just at the train station now.” 

“Literally the only silver lining in this supremely fucked up day.” 

Erik chuckled, and Charles opened his eyes with a scowl. “Care to let me in on the joke?” 

“You swear a lot when you're stressed. It's adorable.” 

“I'm going to hang up now.” 

“No you're not.” 

“Yes, actually, I am, because I'm almost at Raven's and I need the three minute walk from the bus to her house alone to compose myself before I knock on her door. Mind you, she'll probably just assume my bad mood is related to my mother.” 

“What happened with your mother?” 

Charles stood back up and rang the bell for the next stop. “I'll tell you later. Text me when you're close.” 

“I love you.” 

Charles's entire body sagged, his tone softening. “I love you, too.” 

~

It was nearly one in the morning when Erik texted to let Charles know he was back in the city. Charles was wide awake, sitting cross-legged on his bed in the guest room while his phone charged, and replied with Raven's address and instructions to use the side door that opened into the hallway next to the kitchen. He and Raven had spent the evening watching old silent films and talking about Charles' mother – he'd told her everything about that encounter, and nothing about what had happened afterwards. Later, Charles retired to the guest room, changed into his pyjamas, and spent the rest of the night talking to Erik via text. 

Erik had wanted to know about Charles' mother as well, so Charles recounted the entire story once more, and then asked Erik about Emma. The tone of Erik's responses held an underlying current of anger, of a hurt that he clearly didn't want to voice, and Charles knew better than to push him. 

Once Erik confirmed he was on his way, Charles unplugged his phone and crept back down the stairs and took a seat at the kitchen table to wait. He closed his eyes, letting himself drift away, over houses, cars, bikes left out in driveways, down sidestreets and overpasses until—< _there you are._

His intrusion was unexpected, but not unwelcome, and Charles slid easily into Erik's mind despite the miles between them. 

_You're still so far away._

_I'm close. I didn't know you could project yourself this far._

Charles gave a quick, telepathic shrug. _Neither did I. I doubt I could manage it with anyone else._

_I don't think I want you to._

Charles' mouth twitched. _Jealous?_

_Never._ Erik was exiting his cab now, striding up the narrow pathway between Raven's house and the neighbour's to the side door as instructed. Charles was already there, barefoot and waiting and when Erik was close enough, Charles grabbed him and tugged him inside, kissing Erik hard enough to leave him breathless. 

“You didn't answer your phone,” Charles whispered, fingers moving to the buttons of Erik's coat. “Do you have any idea what I thought, what I felt, when Janos showed up and you didn't--” his throat caught, fingers fumbling on the last button, and Erik took his hands, kissing Charles' fingertips before undoing it himself. Impatient, Charles slipped his arms beneath Erik's coat, needing to be closer than fabric allowed, and Erik Erik buried his face in Charles' hair, breathing deeply as he held him close. 

_I'd imagine its pretty close to how I felt when Emma told me Shaw was after you._

Charles released him and laced their fingers together. _Come upstairs. I'm too tired to deal with any of this right now._

_Agreed._

They crept upstairs and past Raven's room, Charles holding tight to Erik's hand right up until the door to the guest bedroom was closed behind them. Erik shrugged out of his coat and turtleneck and took Charles' face in his hands and kissed him deeply. Charles leaned fully into him, exhaustion taking over and spilling into Erik's mind through their shared connection. When was the last time he'd gotten a full night's sleep? At this point, he wasn't even sure what day it was anymore. 

Erik traced his thumbs of the dark circles beneath Charles' eyes. “You need to sleep,” he said quietly. 

Charles only raised his arms, hands barely above his head, for Erik to remove his t-shirt, and allowed himself to be guided to the bed, fitting himself against Erik's side where he belonged while Erik brought the duvet over them both. He closed his eyes fully as Erik's arms curved around him, and drifted into a dreamless sleep to the rhythm of Erik's chest rising and falling beneath his cheek. 

~

A sharp knock on the door jolted Charles back to consciousness, and he pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead as he struggled, for the second time this week, to remember where he was. 

“Charles? You awake?” Raven's voice was slightly muffled from the other side of the door. “We're going to miss the bus if you don't get up soon.” 

_The door, lock the door,_ but Erik was way ahead of him, one hand resting on Charles' hip while he raised the other to hold the door in place just as Raven attempted to open it. 

“Since when does this lock?” she grumbled. A few more seconds of jiggling the doorknob before she gave up with an exasperated sigh. “Are you up, or what?” 

“I'm awake,” Charles called back. He sat up next to Erik, who was watching him in mild amusement. “I...forgot to set my alarm.” As well as where he put his phone. “I'll be out in a minute.” 

“If you're not, I'm leaving without you.” Her footsteps receded down the hall and Charles swore under his breath, drawing a soft chuckle from Erik. 

“Clearly foresight is not my strong suit,” Charles slid out of bed and unzipped his overnight bag where it sat on the adjacent dresser. He'd have to get dressed and make some sort of appearance downstairs before Raven really lost patience with him. 

“Please. If you can sneak yourself past your mother, you can get me out unnoticed.” Erik propped himself up on his elbows, watching Charles dress. “Or, I can just leave the way I came once the two of you are gone.” 

“And go where?”

'Back to the apartment,” Erik answered. “It's not like it'll make a difference to Shaw now if I'm there or not. He's had Emma keeping an eye on me for years.” 

“I'll go with you.” 

“No, you won't.” 

Charles finished tucking in his shirt and glared at him. “I'm really getting fed up with hearing that word.” 

Erik sat up fully, his features hardening. “You need to go to school. Haw and his minions wont come after you in a public place.” 

“Look what happened when we split up,” Charles countered. “You know we're stronger together.” 

“I won't allow you to get hurt because of me.” 

“I can take care of myself!” Charles snapped, and caught himself, lowering his voice. “This is what you wanted. You wanted me to have my powers back, and you wanted me by your side taking down Shaw. You still do, because no matter how hard you try to convince yourself otherwise, you know I'm an asset to your cause. So stop bloody coddling me and let me help you!” 

Erik stood from the bed and crossed the room, but when he tried to take Charles' hand, Charles flinched away. “You're right,” he admitted. “I know that logically, you don't need me to protect you. But I can't risk losing anyone else that I love.” 

They were talking in circles, having the same arguments over and over. “Neither can I,” Charles responded quietly. 

Erik looked as though he'd just been slapped. “Charles, I....” he trailed off, tried again. “How about a compromise? Go to school, just for the morning, while I go back to the apartment and grab what I need. Then I'll pick you up at lunch and we can find somewhere public to regroup and figure out our next move.” 

“You'll pick me up at lunch,” Charles repeated, skepticism colouring his tone. 

Erik rolled his eyes. “Yes, Charles, I will be waiting outside your school at exactly--”

“11:45,” Charles supplied. 

“Yes. That. And if you don't believe me, you know you have free rein of my mind. See for yourself.” 

“Of course I trust you.” Charles brought his hands up to Erik's shoulders, drawing him into a soft, lingering kiss. “Just don't do anything stupid without me, alright?” 

Whatever reply Erik might have given was cut off by another knock at the door, this one more insistent than the last. 

“Are you coming, or what?” 

Charles opened the door just wide enough to slip through, bag slung over his shoulder, and shut it quickly behind him. “Relax, I'm ready,” he said, patting his pants pocket to make sure his phone was there. “And with time to spare.” 

“Great. Let's go,” Raven pivoted on her toes and Charles followed her downstairs, casting a backward glance at the guest room. 

_Quit worrying so much, Charles. The whole neighbourhood's going to end up with secondhand anxiety._

_I can't help it. We've been apart too much lately._

_It's only a couple of hours_ , Erik reassured him. 

_I know. See you soon._

~

When the lunch bell finally rang, Charles was off like a shot, phone already in hand and texting Erik. 

“Hey, Charles, wait up!” Alex jogged up beside him, oddly without Darwin in tow. “Where are you headed in such a hurry?”

“I''m meeting Erik for lunch,” Charles replied distractedly. “He should be waiting out front.” 

“Cool, I'll walk with you. I forgot my gym clothes in my car.” 

Charles was still watching his phone screen, waiting for a response. If Erik was here, or at least on his way, he should have answered by now. He sent another quick text: _Everything ok?_

Outside on the school grounds, Charles scanned the area telepathically, but there was no sign of Erik anywhere nearby. 

“Something's wrong,” he said aloud. “He should be here.” 

“Maybe he's running late,” Alex offered. “The snow's slowing everyone down.” 

“You don't understand,” Charles shook his head. “He's not answering his phone. If he was going to be late, he'd have let me know.” There was a slight tremor in is voice as he spoke. “I have to go.” 

He started forward, but Alex put a hand on his shoulder. “Let me drive you, then. It'll be faster than the bus.” 

Charles looked up at him in surprise. “You would do that?” 

“Well yeah,” he scratched the back of his head, suddenly self-conscious. “I mean, if it was Darwin, you'd probably do the same.” 

Charles only nodded mutely and followed Alex down the stairs, keeping a brisk pace with him as they headed towards the parking lot. 

~

Erik tore the world map down from the bedroom wall, pains, clippings, coloured string and all, and shoved every last scrap into its original shoebox without ceremony. His work was completely useless now that Shaw was back in the city, and Erik had been demoted from predator to prey. Or, he thought hopelessly, more likely Shaw had been toying with him all along. He'd been an idiot to think that Emma had wanted to help him, to think that they had both been so lucky to escape from Shaw back then. Even Janos, who Erik had saved from an anti-mutant hate group, and who had repaid him time and time again by providing supplies for the Morlocks, was one of Shaw's pawns. 

Erik took the box with him out of the apartment and down the hall, mind racing as he dumped years of work into the garbage chute. He'd need his laptop, of course, and a change of clothes because who knew how long Charles would be gone for—and that door had been closed when he left a minute ago. He flicked out a finger, giving the door a nudge with his power, just enough for him to slip soundlessly inside. The living room was empty, as was the kitchen, and he kept his back to the nearest wall as he approached his bedroom warily, fingers twitching at his sides. In the doorway, Erik froze, struggling to process the scene before him. 

Sebastian Shaw's back was to Erik, sandy brown hair perfectly coiffed as always, the lines o his suit crisp and clean. “I missed you, old friend,” he said, without turning around. 

“We're not friends,” Erik growled. 

Shaw cocked his head slightly and turned to face him, the gunmetal grey helmet that Erik favoured as Magneto resting in his hands. “Oh, I wasn't referring to you.” Shaw fitted the helmet over his head. “Feels like coming home.” 

Erik raised a hand to snatch the helmet back, but Shaw was faster, slamming him back against the wall of the hallway, plaster cracking from the impact. Erik struggled to his feet while Shaw approached him, with a placid, almost serene smile. 

“I'm sorry or what happened back then, Erik. I truly am. But everything I did, I did for you. To unlock your power. To make you embrace it.” 

Erik's fist connected with Shaw's jaw and Shaw seemed to distort, absorbing the impact with that same calm smile. It was reckless, Erik knew, but it was only meant to give him enough time to latch on to the nearest metal object and use it to his advantage. Shaw shoved him back once more, sending him skidding backwards into the kitchen doorway. 

“You've come a long way from bending gates, and yet here you are, throwing punches like an amateur. Think of how much further we could go, together.” 

Erik reached out with his power and pulled every single knife from the block on the counter, levelling them with Shaw's upper body before sending them flying with deadly precision. Shaw deflected them all effortlessly, the impact of Erik's attack absorbed by that same field of molecular distortion that blanketed Shaw's skin. They clattered uselessly to the floor and Shaw took another step forward, but Erik was already grasping at the pipes beneath the sink, threading through the walls and launching them at Shaw to pin him against the living room wall. 

Shaw pushed back, using Erik's makeshift weapon against him, backing Erik up against the kitchen cupboards using those same metal pipes. Erik attempted to regain control, but the metal refused to answer his all under the sheer force of Shaw's will. 

“I don't want to hurt you, Erik. I want to help you. This world could be ours.” 

Erik struggled to breathe under the crushing weight of the pipes on his chest. “Everything you did made me stronger. It made me the weapon I am today.” He took a shallow, rasping breath. “That's the truth. I've know all along that you are my creator.” 

_Erik?_

No. No, no, no--

_Erik, what's going on? I can feel another presence in there with you, but I can't get a read on their mind. It's like a blank space where a person should be._

_Dont, Charles please just get out get OUT_

A cloud of purple smoke and the inescapable stench of sulphur, and another mutant materialized behind Shaw. He was almost demonic in appearance, with his crimson skin, protruding horns, and pointed, lazily swishing tail, but Erik barely registered any of that He was focused only on Charles, the top of his head brushing the other mutant's black goatee, and what appeared to be a cutlass held at his throat. 

Shaw pushed once more against the pipes, knocking the wind from Erik's lungs, and held them in place as he glanced over his shoulder. “Charles Xavier.” He pivoted fully and clapped his hands together. “I'm so thrilled to finally meet you.” 

Charles only glared at him and, at his silent command, the mutant holding him loosened his grip.

Shaw wagged a finger in disapproval. “Oh, I don't think so. You drop Azazel,” he reached into his inner suit pocket to retrieve a transparent, fully plastic revolver, levelling it between Erik's eyes, “and I drop your boyfriend.” 

Charles narrowed his eyes, evidently trying, and failing, to access Shaw's mind, and Shaw tapped the helmet with the barrel of his gun. 

“Nice try. You're powerful, Charles, but not that powerful.” He circled Charles and Azazel slowly, a predator evaluating his next meal. “I've heard so much about you.” Distracted, his hold on the piped loosened, and Erik caught them before they hit the ground with a tendril of his own power. He despised the way Shaw looked at Charles with a level of ownership he didn't possess, so certain that he had already won. If nothing else, Erik could use this situation to his advantage. 

He didn't meet Charles' eyes, afraid that if he did, his resolve might break. Instead, he focused only on the helmet, waiting for Shaw to come full circle. 

“You have so much untapped potential,” Shaw was saying. “Think of what you could accomplish with the right mentor.” 

“And you plan to seduce me into this little club of yours at the edge of a blade, is that it?” 

_Good, Charles, keep him distracted._

Shaw halted directly in front of Charles and bent forward, their faces only inches apart. “Is it working?” 

Erik thrust his hand out, fingers closing into a fist, pipes falling to the floor with a resounding crash, and Shaw stumbled backwards as the helmet was ripped from his head. Erik raised his other hand and Azazel's sword flew from his grip, freeing Charles to raise two fingers to his temple and freeze Shaw in place. The plastic gun fell from Shaw's motionless fingers, skidding across the floor. 

“Erik, he's so strong,” Charles gritted his teeth, pouring all of his strength into maintaining control over Shaw. “I can't hold him for long.” 

Erik took one step towards Shaw, and then another. “If you're in there, I'd like you to know that I agreed with every word you said.” Azazel's cutlass floated towards Shaw, the tip poised at Shaw's parted lips. “But unfortunately, you killed my mother.” The blade melted into a thick, viscous liquid and began to flow down Shaw's throat, clogging his windpipe and coating his lungs. “You killed my father.” Shaw's eyes widened, his fingers twitching, but Charles held him fast. “And you threatened someone I love.” 

Another rancid puff of smoke and Azazel was across the room, claiming Shaw's discarded gun and pointing it at Charles' heart. Erik's head whipped around, his concentration broken. 

“No!” He released Shaw, who remained frozen, and suffocating, and yanked hard on the metal of Azazel's cufflink just as he pulled the trigger. 

Both Charles and Shaw crumpled to the floor, perfectly synchronized, and Erik was at Charles' side in an instant, cradling him in his lap. Next to him, Azazel was checking Shaw for signs of life, but Erik knew without looking up that Shaw was already dead, his chest and throat filled with cold, hardened steel. 

Charles coughed wetly and raised his head to appraise the growing red stain that darkened his sweater just below his navel, and dropped back against Erik's arm, eyes fluttering shut. “This was my favourite cardigan.” 

“Hey, come on, don't pass out on me,” Erik shook him gently, and Charles opened his eyes again with a pronounced wince. Nearby, Azazel was already teleporting away, Shaw's corpse clutched in his arms. 

“This is all my fault,” Tears streamed unchecked down Erik's cheeks. “I never wanted this. I never wanted--” he sniffed and shook his head. “You need a hospital.” He started to reach for his phone, but Charles batted his hand away. 

“No ambulance. You can't have....police...here.” Charles too a slow, steadying breath. “Take me. Downstairs.” 

“I don't understand.” 

The image of a retro looking convertible idling on the street flashed into Erik's mind. Alex is waiting. He won't ask questions.

It wasn't as if they had another option. He gathered Charles into his arms and Charles buried his face in Erik's coat, muffling his cries of pain as Erik stood up. Getting down those flights of stairs would take forever, unless....Erik willed his discarded helmet to flatten into a smooth, hovering disc and stepped onto if, holding Charles close. He made sure to leave it in the stairwell when they reached the main floor, wrapping it around one of the bars of the railing to camouflage it, and pushed the front door open with a thought. 

Alex was in the driver's seat, singing along to something on the radio while he drummed on the steering wheel, and nearly jumped out of his skin when the rear passenger down seemed to open of its own accord. Erik carefully laid Charles across the back seat and slid in beside him. 

“What the hell happened?” Alex twisted around, gaping at Charles as he slumped against Erik's side, barely conscious. 

“He needs a hospital. Now.” 

Alex stiffened and faced forward, keying the ignition. “Yeah. Of course.” As they pulled away from the apartment building, he chanced a glance at Erik through the rearview mirror. “You want to tell me what happened?” 

“No."

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly this chapter wrecked me while writing it, but it had to be done. One more chapter to go, I think, til the end. And, of course, thank you so much for sticking with me through all of this, for leaving comments, and for loving this work!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is here! a week later than I planned, but its really hard to coordinate posts with no home internet :/ Anyway. Thank you so, so much to everyone who has been reading, commenting, and leaving love and kudos! I've already started a new Cherik project, and I'd love if you stuck around and maybe hit the subscribe button to check it out once the first chapter is posted ^__^ See you all next time!

Charles woke in a daze. Everything was too white, too bright, and that incessant beeping sound right next to his head was already giving him a migraine. He blinked a few times, started to stretch his limbs, and panicked. 

“I can't feel my legs,” he breathed. Then, a little louder, “I can't feel my legs.”

“You're awake!” his mother's face entered his line of sight and she grabbed for his hand, but he instinctively snatched it away. 

“What are you doing here? Where's Erik?” He tried to reach out telepathically, but his mind was hazy, clouded, with whatever was in the IV connected to his arm. 

“I'm still your mother, Charles,” she answered brusquely. “They called me when you were admitted. As for that young man who brought you in, I had him barred from your room.” 

“You what?” Charles attempted to sit up, and failed. Why couldn't he feel his legs? 

“He's in the waiting room with a couple of your friends from school. He won't leave.” Sharon pointed her finger at him. “That man is trouble. I don't want you anywhere near him.” 

“And you've just now decided to start acting like a parent?” 

“He got you shot, Charles!” The words verged on a shriek as she snatched at his hand again, and again he yanked it away. “He's the reason that you—that you'll never--” she broke off, but Charles could already see the rest of the sentence at the front of her mind. 

“No.” His eyes widened. “No, you're wrong.” But the memory of what had happened was already flooding back, and he saw Azazel pointing the gun at him, and the blood, so much blood on his favourite cardigan and then Erik was there, and he needed Erik to be here now--

“ _Get. Out._ ” his mother's eyes glassed over, and a part of him knew this was wrong but all he could feel was pure rage, at her, at his stupid, useless legs, at Erik's absence, at every second that had passed since he opened his eyes and found himself in this bed. “Tell Erik I need to see him.” 

She stood without a word and walked out, leaving Charles blissfully alone. As if on cue, a nurse poked her head into the room, but Charles turned her away with a thought and returned his attention to his legs. 

“Come on,” he murmured. “Give me something, anything. Anything but this.” 

Erik appeared in the doorway and froze, uncertain, but Charles held his arms out to him and Erik's shoulders sagged in relief. He knelt next to Charles' bed and took Charles' hand in his, bringing the knuckles to his lips. 

“I was so scared, Charles, they wouldn't let me in and I assumed the worst, and I didn't know if you still wanted me here...” 

“Hey.” 

Erik glanced up at him plaintively and Charles tried to smile at him, but came up empty. “Of course I want you here. Just because my other kicked you out, and by the way, why did you even listen to her? Do you have any idea how awful it is to wake up in a strange place where her face is the first thing you see?” 

“Raven informed me that as much as you hated your mother, you probably wouldn't appreciate it if I strangled her.” 

Charles only stared at him. There was so much to unpack here, from his mother to his injuries to Erik being on a first name basis with his sister, to and neither of them had mentioned Shaw yet. 

“Where is she?” That wasn't really what Charles wanted to ask, but it was a start, he supposed. He still couldn't seem to reach any further with his mind than whoever was right in front of him. 

Erik beckoned the chair by the bed closer and sat down, still clasping Charles' hand. “Down the hall, waiting with Alex. I asked them to give us a few minutes.” 

Charles took a deep, steadying breath. “Okay. I need to just...take a step back for a moment. Figuratively, of course,” he added bitterly, glaring at his legs as if they'd personally wronged him. 

_This is my fault. He can't walk because of me._ Erik's guilt ridden thoughts only added to Charles' own misery, and he shook his head in vehement denial. 

“I don't blame you. I made my decision. I made so many decisions, and they all led me here to this point, with you.” 

“You were nearly killed because of me.” 

“I could say the same.” Charles bit his lower lip. “Shaw's dead?” 

Erik nodded. “Yes.” 

“The other one? The one that shot me?” 

“Alive. But I'm going to find him.” 

Another shake of his head. “No. There's been enough bloodshed, don't you think?” Charles narrowed his eyes. “You think I blame you. That I would leave you. Over this?” Charles let go of Erik's hand to gesture at his legs. “It's more likely you'll leave me first.” 

Erik gaped at him. “Excuse me?” 

“I'm a cripple, Erik. I'm broken.” He settled back against the pillows, turning his head away to face the window. “I'm far more trouble than I'm worth.” 

Before Erik could respond, the nurse reappeared in the doorway, this time with Raven and Alex in tow. 

“Hello, Charles,” the nurse greeted him. “How are we feeling?” 

Charles only shrugged. “I'm not feeling much of anything, anymore.” 

~

The doctors confirmed exactly what Charles' mother had, and what he already knew to be true. The bullet had severed his spinal cord, and he would never be able to walk again. That was the gist of it anyway; Charles had tuned out everything after the word “paralyzed”. He spoke only when spoken to, his responses short and clipped, and accepted the homework that Hank had collected and passed on to Raven for delivery with a curt “thank you.” And through all of it, Erik remained, now watching silently from where he leaned against the door frame while Raven and Alex chatted more among themselves than with Charles, who was paying almost no attention to their conversation. 

_Shaw's dead. I helped Erik kill him._

_I murdered him. Is this my punishment?_

_I deserve this._

_Where do I go from here? Home? The apartment's in shambles, and I can't climb those stairs. Mother wants me back. Maybe Kurt won't beat on me if I'm already broken. I can ride it out until Oxford._

_Is Oxford wheelchair accessible? There are so many historical buildings._

_Fuck._

“Charles? You in there?” Raven waved a hand in front of his face and he blinked, refocusing on the current company. 

“Sorry. Lost in thought.” 

The pity in Raven's eyes was almost too much to bear. “It's okay. You've been through a lot.” That was an understatement. “One of the nurses came by to tell us that visiting hours are up. But I'll come by after school tomorrow, alright? Maybe I can get Hank to come along this time.” She leaned in to give him a hug before heading for the door. “I'll see you tomorrow.” 

Erik shifted to let her pass, and she paused, touching his arm briefly before leaving the room. Something wordless passed between them, but Charles didn't bother reading either of their minds to find out what it was. When Alex started to follow, Charles stopped him.

“Alex.” 

He pivoted midstep to look at Charles. 

“Thank you. For everything.”

Alex shifted uncomfortably. “No need, man. I was just the ride.” 

“I mean it, Alex. Thank you.” 

Alex offered him a small nod. “You're welcome. I'll see you tomorrow.” He brushed past Erik with another quick nod, leaving the pair alone once more. When Erik remained silent, Charles” folded his hands in his lap and cast his eyes downward. 

“I understand if you want to leave, too.” 

Erik crossed the room to sit on the edge of Charles' bed. “Why would you think that?” 

“I told you,” Charles answered miserably. “I'm broken. Useless. I'll be trapped in a chair for the rest of my bloody life.” 

“Charles,” Erik reached over and laced their fingers together. “I love you.” 

“I know, but this--” 

“No.” Erik cut him off. “You need to stop talking and listen.” He gave Charles' trembling hand a light squeeze. “I don't care about the chair. I don't care if we have to move to a new apartment building with an elevator. I don't care if you need to wake me up at three in the morning to carry you to the bathroom. I'm not. Going. Anywhere.” 

Charles didn't trust himself to speak aloud, not with the growing lump in his throat and the tears that threatened to fall. _Things will be different. Harder. My body's broken, and my mind's a mess, and I can't—I can't--_

A strangled, wet sound escaped his throat, and then Erik's arms were around him and he was sobbing into Erik's shoulder, all of that pain and anger and despair finally spilling over. Erik held him close, stroking Charles' hair and murmuring a strong of soothing words in his ear. 

Charles sniffed loudly and, without letting go of him, Erik snatched a Kleenex from the box on the side table and passed it to him. Charles used it liberally and crushed it into a ball, which Erik took without flinching and tossed in the wastebasket. Charles took a shallow, stuttering breath, to calm himself, inhaling and exhaling in time with Erik's steadily beating heart.

“You're right,” Erik told him softly. “It will be different. It will be hard, for both of us. But we've been through so much together, Charles. We're stronger than this. You are stronger than this.” 

It was going to be okay. They were going to be okay. Maybe if Charles repeated it enough, he'd start to believe it. He sniffed again, eyes red and watery. 

“I'll need help. Getting around.” 

“Your chair's going to be metal, Charles. I can take you literally anywhere.” 

“Bathing. Showering.” 

“We shower together already.” 

Charles smiled against Erik's shoulder, in spite of himself. “And I will wake you up at three a.m.”

“Fine with me.” 

“Are you sure you're ready for this?” 

“Let's find out.” 

~

Erik was still in Charles' bed when Sharon returned the next day, trading sleepy, indulgent kisses in the early morning sunlight that streamed through the window blinds. She cleared her throat, letting her discomfort show in the way her gaze wandered everywhere except the two of them, and Charles glanced over at her, one eyebrow raised. 

“Didn't I tell you to leave?” 

“Yes, and now I'm back,” she replied evenly. She was exerting a great amount of effort to remain civilized, Charles noticed with some amusement. “I need to talk to you.” 

“Well, that makes one of us.” He braced the heels of his hands against the mattress, and, with a low grunt, managed to flip himself onto his back. That was going to take some practice. Beside him, Erik sat up and slid his socked feet back into his shoes. 

I'm going to find us some breakfast,” he said, leaning over for one last, deliberately lingering kiss. 

_Don't leave me alone with her._

_Haven't you noticed? She's completely sober this morning._

Was she? Charles narrowed his eyes, and started when he discovered her mind to be free of its usual alcohol-induced haze. He hands, on closer inspection, were shaking, most likely from withdrawal, and when she caught Charles staring, she folded her arms across her chest to hide them. She'd also left her fur coat behind in favour of one in plain black, fitted and high collared, and unbuttoned to real high waisted trousers and a simple white blouse. 

Once Erik was gone, Sharon moved to Charles' bedside and sat down in the vacant chair. I don't now why you're still with him when he's caused you so much pain.” 

“Not as much as you have,” Charles retorted, before he could stop himself. 

She flinched. “I suppose I deserved that.” 

Charles sighed. “What do you want, Mother?” 

“I realize you don't want me here, but I just thought you should know.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “I ended things with Kurt.” 

Charles blinked. “You...you what?” He couldn't possibly have heard her right. He could have sworn she said--

“It's over between him and me, Charles,” she confirmed. Her voice cracked as she spoke, but she pressed on. “He was so angry with me. He raised his had, and I thought he was going to...anyway,” she recovered herself and offered Charles a wan smile. “Kurt and his son have been excised from both of our lives, and my lawyer is drawing up the divorce papers as we speak.” 

Charles remained very still, unable to process what he was hearing. “I can't believe you did it. You really got rid of him. Just like that.” 

“I was serious about wanting you to come home. I still am.” She crossed her legs at the knee and leaned back in the chair. “If this is what it takes, then so be it.” 

“Not to sound ungrateful,” Charles said carefully, “but where is all of this coming from?” 

“Contrary to what you might think of me, I'm not a monster,” she answered thinly. “And you weren't the only one caught in the crossfire of Kurt's rage. He's toxic, Charles. For both of us. It just took me longer to figure that out.” 

Charles fell silent. He hadn't considered that she might be one of Kurt's victims, as well. He'd only ever viewed her as passive and detached, either unable or unwilling to recognize the suffering happening around her. But there were other types of abuse than the physical, and Charles remembered the times he'd taken other routes to his room to avoid the shouting matches in the kitchen, in the Kurt's study, in any number of other places in the sprawling mansion. He also remembered Kurt's need for absolute control over anything financial, snatching important documents from Sharon's hands and replacing them with a martini glass. 

“I've already been looking into options for accessibility,” she continued. “I'll have have any amenities you need installed immediately. You'd need to stay on the first floor until the renovations are complete, of course, but it would only be for a week or two.” 

Charles fidgeted with the edge of the linens that covered his lower body. He couldn't feel the fabric against his bare legs, or the texture of the over-starched sheets he was lying on. The only thing he felt, at the moment, was tired. Tired of fighting, of running, of fearing for his and Erik's lives. He wanted to finish his semester at school without worrying about Shaw, or Emma, or his mother. Perhaps giving her what she wanted really wouldn't be the worst thing for him. 

“I have conditions,” he began, watching as his mother sat up straight, trying and failing to control her excitement. He almost felt ashamed for asking, after she'd dealt with Kurt for him, but there were certain compromises he couldn't make. 

“Anything.” 

“You need to quit drinking, and get the help you need to remain sober.” 

She nodded. “Done.” 

“And Erik comes with me.” 

Sharon paled. “I'm not sure that's a good idea.” 

“That's the deal, Mother. I'm not leaving him.” 

He could see the cogs turning in her head while she decided whether it was worth starting an argument. 

“You really love him, don't you?” she said finally. 

That was not the response he'd expected. “Yes.” 

“Then....fine.” 

Charles brightened. “Really?” 

“Tell your...Erik...that he's welcome as well. We have plenty of spare rooms.” 

“That's a nonissue.” 

His mother started to speak, but glanced over her shoulder instead as Erik strolled in with a tray holding three coffee cups and a paper bag, giving absolutely no impression that he had been just outside the door listening for the past few minutes. 

“Earl Grey,” Charles' hands closed around the warm paper cup and he brought it to his lips with an appreciative smile. “And coffee, two cream, one sugar.” Erik handed the second cup to Charles' mother, who accepted it, a little bewildered. 

“How did you...” 

“I pay attention.” 

She took a dainty sip of her coffee and nodded, satisfied. “I was just telling Charles that I would be happy to have the two of you move into the mansion once he's discharged.” 

_No, you wouldn't._

Charles nearly spat out his tea, hiding his expression behind the rim of his cup. _She's trying, Erik. Be nice._

_Is this what you want?_

_She's divorcing Kurt and renouncing her alcoholism. For me._

Erik's eyes bored into his. _That's not what I asked._

_I want a home that can accommodate my needs, and a little peace and security while I learn to deal with all of this. And I want you to be there, like you promised you would._

“You know,” his mother said idly, “it's very rude to carry on an entirely telepathic conversation when I'm sitting right here.” When Charles stared blankly at her, she added, “Come now, darling. I know the inhibitor's been removed. When I asked the doctors if your chip had been damaged, they had no idea what I was talking about.” 

_I don't like her._

_That's alright. She doesn't like you, either._

Erik's mouth quirked up at the corner as he addressed Charles' mother. “We'd be delighted to take you up on your offer.” 

_No, you wouldn't._

_I'm trying to be nice, Charles. Just like you asked._

Exasperated, Charles took a long sip of his tea, watching as Erik and his mother exchanged pleasantries and strained conversation. He was already beginning to regret this decision. 

~

Charles was well aware that he couldn't lie in bed forever, but that didn't mean he was ready for the generic, hospital issued wheelchair that was now parked next to his bed. 

“It's only temporary,” the nurse was saying as she locked the wheels into place. “Yours will be here by the end of the week.” 

Charles eyed the chair warily, as though sizing up an opponent. “Why can't we just wait until then?” 

“Because you need to learn some basic mobility techniques before you're discharged, and there's no reason you can't start now.” 

“I can think of a few,” he muttered. 

“Come on, Charles,” Erik chimed in from the foot of the bed. “It wont be that bad. Just think of it as...training wheels.”

_Oh, you're proud of yourself for that one, aren't you?_

Erik flashed him a mischievous grin. _Maybe._

Charles glanced back at the chair, closed his eyes, opened them again. Still there. “Fine. Let's get this over with.” 

It took Charles three tries to make it from the bed into the chair, and, to his credit, he only snapped on the nurse once. Erik stood by, watching but never offering to help, not with Charles in his mind insisting that if he had to do this, he was damn well going to do it himself. 

“Alright, I made it,” Charles grumbled, slumping against the back of the seat. “Are we finished now?”

“Don't you feel even a little accomplished?” The nurse asked. 

“No.” If he was being honest, it wasn't as much of a nightmare as Charles had imagined, but he wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of admitting it. Charles braced his hands on the armrests and started to lift himself back up, but the nurse stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Not so fast.” She reached down and unlocked the wheels. “Now that you're in the chair let's work on mobility. We're going on a little excursion.”

“I don't think that's really necessary.” Charles fought to keep the panic from rising in his chest. 

“Charles--” 

“I'll take him,” Erik interrupted, stepping between her and Charles. He crooked a finger, and the wheelchair followed Erik out into the hallway, carrying its very unwilling passenger. The nurse only stared in disbelief as Charles flailed helplessly, hurling protests and curses at Erik's back. 

“Erik, let me go, this isn't funny. You can't just drag me out here like a petulant child.” 

Erik turned to face him, the chair rolling to a stop. “Why not? You're certainly acting like one.” 

Charles glared at him. “I am not.” 

“Really?” Erik took a step to the side, giving Charles room to maneuver. “Go ahead, then.” When Charles didn't respond, Erik only nodded. “That's what I thought.” He started down the hallway, hands in his pockets. “You coming?” 

Charles gritted his teeth, but brought his hands over the wheels and pushed himself forward. He veered to the left at first, but instead of ramming into the wall, he hit only air, and he took a moment to adjust his course before trying again. 

“You're welcome,” Erik said as Charles caught up to him, his trajectory now steady and controlled. 

“I hate you.” 

“Mmhmm.” 

~

Oxford was, shockingly, extremely accessible. Despite many of the buildings maintaining historical importance, the university had implemented multiple renovation projects to increase access for those with any range of disability. Charles was at his desk, poring over the extremely detailed campus maps, a chat window with student services open in the bottom corner of his screen, when Erik came in and set a fresh cup of tea down next to his elbow. 

“Thank you,” Charles acknowledged him without taking his eyes from the screen. 

Erik leaned over his shoulder to squint at the screen. “Why do you always have your brightness turned up?” 

“Why is your always turned down?” 

“Touche.” He pressed a kiss just above Charles' ear and went to sit down on the bed. “How's it going?” 

“It'll take some time to learn how to get around campus.” He sat back and picked up the steaming mug Erik had brought him. “I imagine that would be true with or without the chair. But it's doable.”

“That's good news.” Charles averted his eyes, and Erik frowned. “What's wrong?”

Charles closed his laptop and rested his fingers on the controls of his chair, reversing so that he could rotate to face Erik. “I know we haven't really talked about it, and I supposed I just kind of assumed, but...” He hesitated, and Erik tilted his head, waiting. “You're...you're coming with me, right? I mean, it's a lot to ask, for you to pick up and move to another country.” 

Erik stood and closed the short distance between them, kneeling before Charles to take his hand. “Charles. There is no way that you are going off to school and leaving me here with your mother.” Charles smiled as Erik continued, “Besides, I think we could both use a fresh start. I could get a job out there, take an online course or two, terrorize some British monuments...” 

“Erik.” 

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. The helmet can remain in retirement for now. Their civil rights laws regarding mutants are far more advanced than ours, anyway.” 

“I'd like to see you try and get that thing through customs.” 

“Oh I don't know,” Erik straightened and glanced at the helmet, resting in its new home on Charles' bookcase. “It spent over a week disguised as part of a stairwell. I think I could sneak it onto a plane.” 

“Erik--” 

He bent forward to cup Charles' neck and draw him into a deep, lingering kiss. “I'm kidding,” Erik reassured him. 

“Good.” 

“Mostly.” 

Charles tugged at the front of Erik's turtleneck, and Erik obediently slid into his lap. Charles brought his arms around Erik's waist and laced his fingers together at the small of Erik's back. “What do yo want to do? Now that Shaw's out of your life.” 

“I don't know,” Erik admitted. I never really considered a future beyond him.” 

“You have your entire life ahead of you. You could do anything.” When Erik glanced once more at his helmet, Charles added hopefully, “perhaps something other than terrorism in the name of mutant rights?” 

“I know, 'be the better man' and all that.” Erik made air quotes with his fingers. “I suppose I could try it your way for awhile,” he conceded. “Peace. Tolerance. Coexistence. Maybe even help you build that school you wanted, one day.” 

Charles smiled contentedly and rested his head against Erik's chest. “I'd like that.”


End file.
